Stolen Moments
by somethingsdont
Summary: EC. A collection of episode related vignettes centered on Eric and Calleigh's relationship.
1. 101, Golden Parachute

**Title**: Stolen Moments  
**Author**: Lucy (somethingsdont)  
**Pairing**: Eric/Calleigh  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Timeline**: Ep-based  
**Summary**: A collection of episode-related vignettes centered on Eric and Calleigh's relationship.

* * *

**Episode 1.01, Golden Parachute**

_"Come on, breathe, breathe, breathe," Eric pleaded, pressing his palms against the unconscious man's chest. There was no response, so he brought his lips to the stranger's and blew. Once, twice. He tasted dirty water and foreign flesh. He tasted death. "Come on, breathe!" he cried, feeling the man's life slip through his fingertips._

_Beside him, Horatio stood, looking down at Eric's frantic attempts. "Eric. Eric," he said, as gently as he could in a situation like this. When Eric refused to cease his efforts, Horatio repeated his name, more forcefully. "Eric." The younger CSI stopped, keeping his hands over the deceased man's heart. "He's gone," Horatio stated with a certain finality._

_Eric lowered his head shamefully. "I lost him."_

-/-/-

Calleigh stood in the hallway of the Miami-Dade crime lab, glancing through the large glass windows at the near-empty labs. The building was most quiet at this time: before night-shifters arrived and after most day-shifters had gone home. Her gaze stopped briefly when she caught a glimpse of Eric, hunched over a hoard of evidence. She took a moment to study him, and she noticed that he appeared tense and unfocused.

She headed in his direction, suddenly conscious of how the clicks of her heels echoed through the quiet building. She pushed past the door and approached him slowly. Eric looked up and greeted her with a tired smile, before returning his attention to the fingerprints in front of him. She watched him work for a few minutes, as he pored over his magnifying glass, trying to make an impossible match between loops, whirls and arches.

He looked up again, and their eyes connected for a brief moment. He stood, and that was when his height became most noticeable. He sighed and hesitated before speaking.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but do you need something?" he asked, trying to keep the agitation out of his voice.

"Yeah, actually," she replied, nodding. She looked down at the fingerprints, then back up at Eric. "Speedle said you were in a bad mood earlier," she said softly, studying his reaction. "Anything you want to share?"

"No," he replied with a hint of irritation. He frowned and sighed in frustration. "And I don't appreciate Speedle spreading that around either," he added, resting his weight against the table.

She shook her head. "He didn't—"

"I know I'm the rookie, okay?" he interrupted, his voice rising. "But it doesn't give you guys the right to speculate about my _moods_ behind my back."

Calleigh crossed her arms over her chest, but despite physical appearances, she wasn't angry or upset, only curious and slightly worried. Very little surprised her, but his sudden admission had caught her off guard. After all, Eric had worked in the lab for nearly a year, and even though he was the newest member of the team, his experience had never been questioned before.

"You know what? We've never considered you a rookie," she said resolutely, her gaze unwavering.

He looked away. "Right," he replied flatly, leaning down to study the fingerprints again.

"But the fact that you think we think you are one makes me question your confidence in your own competency," she added, searching his movements for miniscule glimpses into his thoughts.

He scoffed. "Is that your way of telling me I need a shrink?" he asked in disbelief.

Calleigh frowned. "It's my way of telling you that you're part of the team," she said gently, suddenly confused. "What's going on, Eric?"

"Nothing," he replied dismissively.

But Calleigh wasn't satisfied with that answer, so she stood firm and waited for a better explanation.

Finally, Eric sighed and abandoned his magnifying glass. He straightened up. "It was just this guy in the 'glades," he started, sighing again, his exhaustion obvious. "From the crash. I couldn't resuscitate him." He looked at her, almost as if requesting confirmation that he wasn't crazy for letting this get to him. "I lost him, Calleigh," he rehashed, looking away.

"There was probably nothing you could do," she offered.

"_Probably_ being the operative word," he replied pointedly.

"There was nothing you could've done," she said firmly.

"You weren't there," he replied. He paused and shook his head. "He had a pulse."

"Eric, that man died because he was a passenger in a plane that fell four thousand feet out of the air," she said sternly. Rational, logical and true, but not enough.

"Yeah, an _innocent_ passenger. I ended up saving the killer," he said, allowing the irony to settle in the air for a moment.

"Sommer's not going to hurt anyone anymore," she said with a small, reassuring smile.

"And I'm supposed to believe that justice is served," he said dryly.

Calleigh frowned. "If you can't be satisfied with that, I'm afraid you've chosen the wrong career path," she suggested with the straight-forward truthfulness that had always been characteristic of her.

Eric nodded, as if considering this for the first time. Calleigh seemed satisfied by his response, so she smiled and headed for the door. He watched her leave and had the sudden urge to stop her, to keep talking to her, but he couldn't think of anything intelligible to say.

Halfway to the door, Calleigh stopped and turned to him. "It gets easier."

Eric smiled then, and even though he shouldn't need this encouragement, because he'd worked in the lab long enough to know that it happened, he was grateful for her honest words and her no-nonsense attitude.

"Thanks, Calleigh."

She left the lab then and walked out of sight, and Eric returned to the fingerprints in front of him with a renewed determination.

Even when fogged by fatigue, Eric could tell that this was the beginning of something great.


	2. 102, Losing Face

**Episode 1.02, Losing Face**

_Eric __entered the lab where Calleigh and Megan were discussing a piece of fabric found earlier at the crime scene. Megan greeted him with a quick 'hey' and he responded the same way, before taking a seat in front of Calleigh._

_"Our bomber's quite the clothes hound. He has expensive taste," Calleigh informed him._

_"If he is a he," Megan interjected. "A lot of women's clothing is made with French lace. Blouses, scarves…"_

_"Lingerie," Eric supplied. The two women turned to look at him, and he grinned sheepishly. "What? I shop on Valentine's Day."_

-/-/-

"Are you sure there's nothing you want to tell me?" Calleigh asked playfully, reaching over Eric for a test tube.

He looked up from the report in his hands and appeared genuinely confused. "About what?" he asked with a laugh.

"Your knowledge on lingerie," she replied nonchalantly, smiling. She gave him a dubious look. "Valentine's Day?"

Eric chuckled. "Yeah, Valentine's Day," he confirmed, nodding.

"Mm-hmm," Calleigh replied, her smile betraying her skepticism.

Eric closed the folder and looked at her. "What are you saying, Calleigh? Would you prefer the alternative?" he taunted.

"Alternative?" she asked, feigning innocence.

He chuckled and gestured nervously in the air. "That I buy women's lingerie for—" Their eyes met. "—fun."

Calleigh smiled and looked away. "Well, when you think about it, your excuse—"

"Reason," he corrected, crossing his arms over his chest. "My reason."

"Your _explanation_ is for… fun, also," she said coyly.

Eric raised his eyebrow and smirked, report forgotten. "Calleigh, aren't you getting a little too liberal with me?"

"Are you complaining?" she asked.

He raised his arms in defeat. "By no means."

"You know, some girls don't like it when you give them lingerie." She looked at him and grinned. "Too obvious," she explained.

Eric chuckled. "You and I are clearly not seeing the same girls," he replied, sounding a little uncomfortable to be talking to her about this.

Calleigh focused on cutting the tip off a swab and picking it up with a pair of tweezers, instead of responding to his evocative comment. A strange sensation ran through her, and she quickly dismissed it as protectiveness. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong with Eric running around with girls who appreciated lingerie for Valentine's Day, especially since she knew that he rarely spent more than a month with the same person.

Eric studied her for a minute, then opened the folder and returned to his report, even though he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. "I sense disapproval," he noted carefully, keeping his eyes on the words in front of him.

"No," she replied swiftly, evasively. She looked up and stared straight at him, her eyes betraying nothing. "Quite frankly, that's none of my business."

Eric frowned, catching the strain in her tone, but before he could mention it, she held an evidence envelope out to him.

"Will you bring this to trace for me?" she asked, the odd strain gone.

Eric looked at Calleigh questioningly, confused by how quickly she could shift emotional gears. She was still holding out the envelope to him, so he took it from her and nodded, but made no effort to move. "Are we okay?" he asked, frowning slightly.

"Yeah," she replied with a bright smile. She pointed at the envelope in his hands, then at the door. "Trace," she said firmly, turning her attention back to her work.

"Calleigh."

She looked up. "Did you have another fight with Tim?" she asked gently.

Eric gave her a confused look, unsure how that had anything to do with the current conversation. "What? No," he replied truthfully.

She smiled knowingly. "So your reluctance to leave me alone and go to the trace lab can be attributed to…?"

He chuckled. "Alright, point made. I'm leaving," he conceded. He paused, trying to hide his smile. "And hey, don't worry," he added, tapping her shoulder playfully with the folder he was still holding. He leaned a little closer and lowered his voice. "I know what _not_ to get you for Christmas."

Despite wanting to wipe that smug smile off his face, Calleigh laughed softly.

Making a saluting motion with his folder, Eric backed out of the lab, smiling the whole way.


	3. 103, Wet Foot Dry Foot

**Episode 1.03, Wet Foot/Dry Foot**

_"Hey, Calleigh," Eric __said when he caught up to her in the hallway. He chuckled. "Listen, I was wondering if maybe I could crash at your place tonight." He looked at her expectantly, but when she did nothing but give him a strange look, he chuckled again, nervously. "I'm trying to keep a low profile and H has been stirring up the neighborhood," he explained, gesturing to strengthen his point._

_"You know how he is. He's like a dog with a bone," Calleigh replied, ignoring his request._

_"Yeah, well, he needs to learn to let go," Eric said, trying to determine whether to pursue further or to ask Speed instead. "'Cause this girl's family doesn't care about solving the crime. Their niece is already dead. You know? They're thinking, we got to protect the living."_

_"I can't say I blame them," she replied, still ignoring his original request. She walked into a lab and busied herself with a computer. Eric stood at the doorway and contemplated forgetting about the whole thing, as Calleigh moved from the computer to a microscope._

_"On the couch. No midnight tiptoe," she said finally, laughing softly. "Deal?"_

_He chuckled. "Deal."_

-/-/-

When Calleigh awakened in the morning, she tiptoed – ironically, she noted – to the living room, where Eric was tangled in the blanket she had provided him the night before, curled comfortably on her couch. For a person who lived by a strict routine, seeing Eric's sleeping form there left her with a slightly unsettled feeling. She returned to her bedroom to get a change of clothes, then headed to the bathroom for a quick shower. Half an hour of hair and makeup later, she decided that she was presentable for the day and returned to the living room, where Eric was still sleeping.

She approached him and watched him sleep for a moment, noticing how peaceful he looked. She didn't have the heart to wake him right then, so she left him there and headed for the kitchen, where she brewed a pot of coffee and made two slices of French toast. She downed them, sipping occasionally at her coffee. After dropping her plate and mug into the sink, she checked the time. Forty-five minutes to shift.

She knew that waking Eric could not wait any longer, so she returned to the couch. He was still sleeping soundly, and she stood over him for a moment, unsure how to approach the situation. Finally, she brought her hand to his shoulder and shook him gently. He stirred slightly, but she didn't come anywhere near waking him.

"Eric, you're going to be late," she whispered, shaking him a little harder.

Eric mumbled an incoherent string of syllables and turned away, burying half of his face into a nook of the couch, pulling the blanket up to his neck.

Calleigh smiled. "Not only are you going to be late, you're going to make _me_ late, so come on," she urged, slapping him gently on his exposed cheek.

But Eric was a heavy sleeper, apparently, and even that didn't wake him.

Calleigh brought her lips inches from his ear. "Horatio Caine in spandex," she whispered.

Immediately, Eric jerked awake, and his head shot up. Calleigh moved aside just in time to avoid colliding into him. "Do not," he said, letting the words grind through his teeth, "_Ever_. Do that again."

"Good morning," Calleigh greeted softly, smiling.

Eric groaned and tossed his head back down onto the couch. He covered his eyes with his hand. "Maybe to a person who does not have a wildly disturbing image burned into their brain," he mumbled.

"More where that came from," she warned. "Get up."

Eric groaned again but sat up and rubbed his eyes. "I am never spending another night here again," he said jokingly, reaching for the change of clothes he had brought.

Calleigh laughed. "That's unfortunate, because I was just about to offer you French toast," she teased, making her way back to the kitchen.

The mention of food made Eric's stomach grumble. "Calleigh, Calleigh, Calleigh," he said, getting up quickly and following her to the entrance of the kitchen. "You _know_ I didn't mean that."

Calleigh didn't respond, only busied herself with eggs and milk, nutmeg and cinnamon.

"What are you doing?" Eric asked, even though he had a pretty good idea.

"Making French toast," she replied needlessly, dipping a slice of bread into the batter she'd mixed.

Eric smiled. "Thank you."

She looked at him briefly. "Who said they were for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Calleigh," he pleaded, and his stomach let out a strange growl.

She still didn't say anything, her back turned to him, and he knew that it was the game she played. She revealed nothing, kept him guessing, and it was exciting, in a way. But he also knew that he never won this game, and he'd accepted this, so he decided that the safest route was to leave her with her kitchen utensils, and when she judged it appropriate to feed him, she would. At least, he hoped she would.

"Well, I'm going to take a shower," he said, holding up his change of clothes. "If I can't be full, at least I can be clean."

"I already ate," she said suddenly. She looked away from her pan for a moment and smiled. "These are yours."

"You," Eric said, "are the greatest."

Calleigh chuckled. "I know," she replied, returning to her cooking. "Go shower."

He nodded and found his way to her bathroom, still starving, but looking forward to a delicious breakfast. He didn't spend nearly as much time in there as Calleigh had, and five minutes later, he was at the entrance of the kitchen again, his hair damp, his mouth watering.

"That was fast," Calleigh noted, as she placed two slices of French toast on a plate and set everything down on the table. "How would you like your coffee?"

"Black," he replied.

She poured him a cup and walked past him, out of the kitchen, toward the front door. Before he could process what she was doing, she returned, newspaper in hand, and sat down at the kitchen table with her paper. She looked up at him and motioned at the seat across from her. He chuckled and sat, feeling an unusual calmness settling around him.

"You are far too good to me," he said, reaching for his toast and pouring a large helping of syrup on it.

"Eat fast," she replied, opening the paper. "Normally, I'd be halfway to the lab by now." She tried to sound annoyed, but her smile gave her away.

"You know, I could get used to this," he said with a mouthful of toast.

"Dear lord, Eric, don't you have any table manners?" she admonished, never once looking up from her article.

He ignored her, stuffing another mouthful of toast into his mouth. "This is delicious. I think I should crash here more often."

"Next time, it's your turn to make breakfast," she remarked lightheartedly.

"So there's a next time?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She looked up and smiled. "Well, you know, when Horatio stirs up your neighborhood again."

"Ah," he replied with a knowing smile. "For a moment there, I thought you were actually enjoying my presence."

"I always enjoy your presence," she said simply, returning to her newspaper.

Eric took another bite of toast and chewed slowly, processing her words. A comfortable silence settled in, and he finished his toast, washing it down with coffee. He stood, picking up his plate and mug and bringing them to the sink. He went on to wash them, and he noticed another set of dishware in the sink so he washed those as well.

Calleigh appeared beside him. "Thanks, Eric. If you clean toilets too, I'd keep you around for a while," she said teasingly.

He dried his hand on a paper towel and chuckled. "Dream on, Calleigh. I washed the dishes because you made breakfast."

"Ulterior motive. Nice," she responded, smiling. "You're still making breakfast next time, though."

"Well, I hope you like cereal," he said, looking at her. "Because that is the only breakfast I can make," he admitted guiltily.

"You better start learning. I expect bacon and eggs, at the very least," she replied, heading out the kitchen.

Eric followed her, and after he'd gathered his things and she'd picked up her purse, they headed out the door. They took separate cars, because that was the way they had arrived the night before. Eric tailed her all the way to the lab, and when they finally arrived, they realized that they were a few minutes late. Calleigh blamed Eric for their tardiness, but he laughed it off.

It felt strange, to him, to drive to the lab from her apartment. It felt strange, to her, to be late for work.

The strangest thing, for both of them, was that seeing the other first thing in the morning hadn't felt very strange at all.


	4. 104, Just One Kiss

**Episode 1.04, Just One Kiss**

_Eric __held up a swab that he had just finished swiping over the nosepiece from a pair of glasses. Calleigh stood beside him, watching him as he tested the swab for blood. "A little phenol," he murmured, using the eyedropper to add a few drops of phenolphthalein onto the tip of the swab. "And some of this," he continued, adding a drop of hydrogen peroxide._

_The swab turned a light pink immediately._

_"__Proof of blood," Calleigh confirmed, keeping her eye on the swab. "Pink always was my favorite color."_

-/-/-

Eric entered the break room, in dire need of a cup of coffee. Calleigh was sitting on the couch, flipping through a gun catalog, her own cup of heaven cradled in her hand.

"Hey, Calleigh," he greeted, heading straight for the coffee maker.

"What's yours?" she asked out of the blue, without looking up from her catalog.

Eric looked at her and chuckled. "What are you talking about? What's my what?"

"Your favorite color," she clarified, turning the page. "I told you mine."

Eric smiled and reached for his coffee mug. "When I did that phenol test? Barely constitutes storytelling," he scoffed.

"Still, you know my favorite color and I don't know yours," she said, hinting dissatisfaction.

"And this bothers you," he commented, pouring the warm brown liquid into his mug.

"I'm curious by nature," she explained with a smile.

Eric brought the mug to his lips and tilted it just enough to take a satisfying gulp. He sighed, content, and made his way to the couch. He fell back onto it, a little too hard, apparently, because Calleigh made a disapproving noise, but she never once took her eyes off her catalog. He watched her, tried to unnerve her by keeping a steady gaze on her, but she was focused on her Magnums and her Rugers. Between sips of coffee, he grew impatient and tried to throw her off with a haphazard remark.

"Thymolphthalein."

She gave him a questioning look. "Thymolphthalein?"

He nodded and chuckled lightly, taking a personal victory in getting her to finally look away from her catalog. He tried to act casual. "You should know what that means."

She appeared concentrated for a moment. "My knowledge on pH indicators is rusty but that's… blue?" she asked, looking at him for verification.

"Blue," he confirmed.

"Blue," she echoed, testing the word in her throat. "Blue," she repeated, frowning.

Eric chuckled. "Is there something about blue that displeases you?"

She ignored him and turned back to her guns. "Sky blue or midnight blue?"

He stared at her incredulously. "Are you serious?"

"Aquamarine? Cerulean?" she asked, flipping another page on her catalog.

Eric laughed in disbelief. "Look, Calleigh, I understand that to girls, blue is a whole spectrum of colors from navy to cyan, but to guys, blue is just blue," he informed her.

She continued to ignore him. "Turquoise? Teal?"

"Just blue," he repeated. "Besides, teal is not blue. It's green."

She paused and smiled, just long enough to let him know she was having fun with this. "Indigo? Periwinkle?"

Eric pressed his palm onto the center of Calleigh's catalog to stop her from reading it. And to be a pest. Without warning, she slammed the catalog closed, pinning his hand inside. He withdrew his arm immediately, and his hand stung, but he didn't want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that.

"What the hell did you do that for?" he snapped.

"I'm done looking at guns," she replied sweetly, innocently. "You want it?" She held the heavy book out to him.

He frowned and shook his head, hand still throbbing. "I don't like guns as much as you do."

"Oh, that's right," she said playfully. "You like blue better."

"Funny," he replied humorlessly. "Speaking of which, are you done showing off how many shades of blue you can name?"

"Yes," she said with a chuckle. She turned to him again. "At least answer this: dark blue or light blue?"

He rolled his eyes but decided to humor her. "Dark blue, I guess. Do you need a hexadecimal color code to go with that?" he taunted.

"Preferably," she replied, "but I'm guessing I'm not getting one."

He chuckled and took another drink of coffee. "You guessed right. Come on, Calleigh, you're probably the only person in the entire world who asks for a shade after someone's told you their favorite color."

"I'm thorough. Makes me a good CSI," she replied with a smile. "Besides, _you_ are probably the only person in the entire world who answers a favorite color question with 'thymolphthalein.'"

"I'm specific," he replied, stealing a quick glance at her. "Makes me a good CSI," he mocked.

She laughed in spite of herself. "That's not specific, Eric. It's just nerdy."

He chuckled and brought the mug to his lips again. "So what shade of pink are you into?" he asked, trying to sound as disinterested as possible. "Lavender? Magenta? Fuchsia?"

"Lavender," she replied, looking up. "You seem to know a little something about the color pink."

"I have a niece," he replied, and even though he was trying to act indifferent about it, she could tell that he was brimming with pride. "I spent last weekend with her. She's almost four, and she loves coloring. She had this box of crayons, and she made me read her all the names. Twice."

"Uncle Eric!" she cooed.

"Yeah, cute," he replied dryly, clearing his throat apprehensively.

"Well, I don't know, I've never seen you interact with children before," she said, imagining all the ways she could tease him about this new development.

"Can't let too many people know. It'd ruin my macho reputation," he explained jokingly.

She let out a noise that sounded very much like a snort, and he couldn't help but like the uncharacteristic nature of the sound. She seemed to notice this and grew slightly self-conscious, so she stared at the front cover of her catalog to hide her discomfort. He looked away to give her some space, because he'd learned how to read her, and even though she revealed very little, he prided himself on being able to tell when she preferred his silence.

"I have to get back to work," she said softly, dropping the gun catalog onto Eric's lap.

"Yeah, me too. Did you finish your report on the Hamilton case?" he asked, unsure what to do with the catalog she'd handed him. Finally, he moved it to the coffee table in front of him.

"Almost," she replied, standing up. "And Eric?" She smiled. "Teal is a shade of cyan, thereby making it blue, not green."

He chuckled. "And I want to remember this because…?"

"Personal knowledge. Enlightenment," she replied, moving to the sink to rinse her mug. "Plus, I hear it impresses the ladies," she added coyly.

"Gun-toting Southern ladies?" he asks hopefully.

She smiled brightly but left the break room without responding.

Eric was satisfied, however, because he had his answer in her lack of answer.


	5. 105, Ashes to Ashes

**Episode 1.05, Ashes to Ashes**

_"What have you got?" Speed __asked, taking brief glimpses at Eric's evidence._

_"A car explosion," Eric replied. "Burned victim. Checking for cognac used as an accelerant." He looked at Speed. "Can you beat that?"_

_"Yeah," Speed replied. "I got a priest shot with a rifle, dead in a church."_

_"That's not bad," Eric remarked._

_"Not bad?" Speed asked, scoffing.  
_

_"It's not bad," Eric repeated._

_"It's at least a draw," Speed grumbled. "You're not going to beat me with a burned-out car."_

-/-/-

"So Speed seems to think your priest case can beat my car explosion," Eric commented, taking a quick look at Calleigh.

Calleigh turned to him briefly. "I heard about your squabble with Tim and I'm not going to encourage either of you by offering my opinion on that," she replied calmly, removing a box of evidence from the top shelf and placing it on the table in front of him.

"But you do have an opinion to offer, is that what you're telling me?" he asked, placing an evidence bag in his own box. She ignored him, so he chuckled. "C'mon, Cal."

She looked up and crossed her arms over her chest. "My opinion is that it's the loss of two lives, Eric," she reprimanded. "No laughing matter."

He frowned, studying her. "Whoa, Calleigh, it was just a joke."

"Yeah, a pretty tasteless one," she replied, removing the lid off her evidence box.

"Hey, Speed's in this too," he said defensively.

"I agree, but he's not coming to me, asking my opinion about which murder is more _intricate_ than the other," she snapped.

He exhales in disbelief. "Look, I'm sorry if it offended you, okay?"

"Offending me is not what you should be worried about," she replied, a little snippily.

"What do you want me to do? Go down to the morgue and apologize to the victims? Maybe bring the priest some holy water," he said sarcastically, slamming the lid onto the box in front of him. He couldn't stop himself from crossing the line. "_Maybe_ my apology will bring the dead girl's unborn baby back."

She stared at him, incredulous. "You can be a real insensitive jerk sometimes," she seethed, replacing the lid on her box.

He sighed, knowing he's gone too far. "Calleigh—"

"I have evidence to process," she said calmly, moving to place her box back onto the shelf. "Excuse me."

"Calleigh." He sighed and moved to step between her and the door, and she stopped long before she reached him or the door. It was always about personal space with her. God forbid someone actually entered hers.

"Get out of my way," she ordered, keeping her tone as neutral as possible.

"Cal."

She sighed and took a step toward him. "Eric, I don't think you get it," she said softly, sounding exhausted.

"No, you're right, I don't," he replied, his voice still holding an edge he couldn't cover up. He gave her an apologetic smile and softened his tone. "Because normally, you would not react like this to a little joke."

"So suddenly, you know everything about me," she remarked bitterly.

"I know that something's going on that you're not telling me," he delved cautiously, "and I know that it's big, because you're good at hiding little things."

She looked at him and sighed again. "I'm just tired," she replied dismissively.

He frowned. "Tired is a little thing," he objected.

"Tired _can_ be a big thing," she retorted, her voice rising again.

"But right now, it's not?" he guessed, trying to study her reaction, waiting for something to work on, a hint, because that was how it was with her.

A flash of irritation appeared in her eyes. "I'm not going to ask you again. _Get out of my way_."

He relented, only because she carried that damn gun of hers everywhere she went, and he had detected a twitch in her fingers. He moved out of the way, but barely enough for her to pass through the door without brushing by him. She did so anyway, almost squeezing through sideways just to avoid touching him.

He hesitated a moment, then ran after her, getting a few strange looks from other people in the hallway.

"Calleigh, hey, Cal," he called out, and she pivoted around to face him. He came to a stop in front of her and scratched his head nervously. He hadn't really planned out what to say, and he found himself staring idiotically at her. Before he could pull together a string of words, she reached a hand out to his arm and touched it lightly.

"Eric, I'm fine," she said softly.

He took her hand in his and swung it back and forth gently. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nodded. She looked away for a brief moment, and when she looked back up at him, she was smiling. Tiredly, but smiling. "You know I'd come to you if something really was wrong, right?"

He frowned, a little thrown off by her open admission. "No, but that's—"

"I would," she interrupted firmly, keeping her eyes steadily on his.

He smiled, marveling at the way a small comment like that could make his heart skip. "Okay."

"Okay," she agreed. She gave his hand a quick squeeze and turned to leave, but he gripped her hand and stopped her.

"Hey, Calleigh, you know what just happened, right?" he asked playfully, unable to keep a small smile from spreading across his face.

She gave him a confused look.

He chuckled. "We had our first real fight," he said proudly.

She smiled and rolled her eyes a little. "We've fought before," she pointed out, hinting obviousness.

"I've never gotten you so angry that you stormed out," he teased.

"I didn't _storm_ out," she scoffed, feigning exasperation.

He nodded knowingly. "Oh, I'm sorry, so all that stomping was coming from the _other_ gorgeous ballistics expert we keep around here?" he asked, and he could tell by her reaction that he'd managed to catch her off guard. Mentally, he rewarded himself with a gold star.

"Eric…"

"I know, how could I have gotten you mixed up with her, right?" He smiled, pulling her an inch closer and lowering his voice. "Pretty ridiculous, huh?"

She returned the smile but pulled back. She studied him for a moment, then wiggled her hand out of his. "Thank you," she said finally.

"For what?" he asked, chuckling slightly.

"I got irritable with you for no reason, and you still managed to cheer me up," she replied quietly, and it was a little rare for her to admit that she was at fault, but it was Eric; she could afford the truth.

He smiled, brushed his fingers quickly over her arm. "We'd better get back to work," he suggested.

She nodded. "I'll let you in a secret though," she whispered, leaning in a little so that he could hear her.

"What's that?" he asked, realizing only afterwards that his voice had come out in a whisper as well, and personal space suddenly didn't seem like a huge issue with her anymore.

"The priest case I'm working on with Speed?" She smiled and slowly backs away. "Not all it's cracked up to be."


	6. 106, Broken

**Episode 1.06, Broken**

_"What about the guy in the Acapulo T-shirt? Did he give prints?" Calleigh asked, looking toward a disgruntled man sitting nearby._

_"No, but I think we could arrest him based on the fact that it's a little too creepy to be in one of these places without a kid," Eric replied, giving her a knowing look._

_"Could you hold my lifters?" she asked without a second thought, handing him the device in her hands. "Do you have any ridge builder lotion?"_

_"Yeah, in my kit," he replied, watching her release her soft blond hair from the elastic that had held it together, and he couldn't help but notice how it cascaded over her shoulders._

_He removed a small bottle from his kit and handed it to her, watched as she dabbed a few drops on her fingertips. He smiled slightly, because he has anticipated her next move._

_She picked up a clipboard and headed in the suspect's direction. Eric kept a careful eye on her as she approached the creepy young man and introduced herself, chuckled when she dropped the clipboard clumsily. He felt something else, too, a tiny little nagging feeling at the pit of his stomach, as the other man picked up her clipboard and gave her a not-so-subtle once-over, and when she returned, Eric forced himself to unclench his fist._

_"Here you go," she said proudly, holding out the clipboard with a clear thumb print pressed onto the front of the attached paper._

_"Very nice," he replied, offering a small smile even though the twist in his stomach remained._

-/-/-

Eric was going insane. He was sure that insanity was mere moments away, but perhaps the release would be welcome. He wasn't even sure why this feeling kept nagging at him. After all, she'd done that – flirted for evidence, that is – more times than he could count, and each time, he had sat back and appreciated the view of a Calleigh who let her guard down for a moment and had a little fun. It had always been nice to see this side of her; it made her seem a lot more approachable, because although she'd always been warm and pleasant around him, he'd seen what she could do, with or without a gun.

It was different this time, though, and he couldn't exactly pinpoint why, but he knew that if he mentioned it, she'd dismiss it, maybe even become irritated with him, but he had to try.

That was how he had ended up 'coincidentally' entering the locker room moments after she had. He tried to act pleasantly surprised to see her fumbling with her lock, but quickly realized that he was a little nervous, wasn't really sure how to broach the topic.

She gave him a bright smile though, and that eased him up a little. He turned to his own locker and began spinning the little dial. After pulling open the door, he turned around, leaned against the locker next to his and cleared his throat.

"Hey, Calleigh, listen, do you have a minute?" he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

She turned around to face him. "Yeah, sure, what's up, Eric?"

"This is going to sound stupid," he said, already searching for ways to get out of this conversation.

She frowned and took a step toward him. "You can tell me," she urged.

He took a deep breath. "Okay, I'm just, uh—" He looked around the locker room once, finally settling his gaze on her face. "This morning, at Zany Town, when you went to get the fingerprint from that guy, Brad." His expression turned expectant, but she didn't offer any response. "I don't like that," he concluded lamely.

She rolled her eyes slightly and returned to her locker, and he knew that she wasn't taking him seriously. "Okay, Eric, next time I'm going to check with you first, because it's 1820 and we're married," she replied sarcastically.

"Calleigh."

She looked up from her locker again. "You're serious," she stated flatly. She sighed. "Eric, we've done that a million times to get evidence from less-than-cooperative male suspects," she pointed out.

"I know," he replied with a quick shrug. "I just think it should stop."

"Why?"

"It's not your job to lower yourself to their level," he explained, wishing he were anywhere else but here. He wasn't sure what had prompted him to start this conversation with her, but he sure as hell didn't have the balls to finish it.

She stood up straighter and stared straight at him, a little disbelievingly. "My _job_," she emphasized, "is to keep the killers off the streets."

"You can do that without using your body," he replied pointedly.

She frowned. "This is about this morning?"

"It's about—" He sighed. "It's about every time you put yourself in danger like that."

"Eric, we both do that every day," she replied, surprise trickled across her face. "I know what I signed up for, and I know you do too."

He shook his head. "That's not what I mean."

She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned her shoulder against the locker. "Then I'm curious; what exactly are you trying to imply?"

"I'm just worried about you," he said quietly, and it was rare for him to feel the little flutter at the pit of his stomach. He was young, still, and admittedly selfish at times, but he felt _it_, stronger than he'd ever felt it before.

She wasn't having any of that though, and she frowned. "No, you're just patronizing me." She uncrossed her arms and stood up straight again. "Eric, I don't want or _need_ you to worry about me." She took a step back and turned toward her locker, began fiddling with her bag.

Though he'd wished mere minutes ago to have never spoken, he'd gone too far to stop now. "I saw the look he gave you, Calleigh," he said, feeling a little pathetic. "Maybe not today, maybe not all those times you've done it before, but I can't help but feel like one day one of them will find you responsible and take it into their own hands. I can't—"He trailed off and shook his head, turning back to his own locker. "Forget it," he mumbled indignantly.

Her head snapped up at that. "You can't what?" she asked, and it was so difficult to read her tone, difficult to tell if she was angry or not.

"Never mind, okay? It's no big deal," he sighed, frustrated that this had gone to hell. He had known it would, yet he tried anyway. He still didn't know what he had hoped to accomplish.

"Eric," she seethed, "this isn't about my safety at all." She paused, and the air around them seemed to become more dense. "This is about you and your male ego," she accused.

"What? No, it's—" He sighed loudly, and his next words were quiet. "I'm just worried, okay, that's it. Just worried," he emphasized, frustration evident.

Her face softened at the authenticity in his voice. "I'm a big girl," she said gently. "I can take care of myself."

He sighed. "I know that." He closed his locker, only realizing after the fact that he hadn't taken anything out or put anything in, but she didn't seem to notice, so he shrugged. "Look, whatever, just be careful." He looked up to see her staring back at him with an inquisitive frown on her face.

"Something happened," she observed. "Eric, what happened?"

And there was no getting out of that one. Leave it to Calleigh to be attentive even when she's got her back turned. He wanted to insist that nothing had happened, nothing had changed, but maybe… maybe something had changed. Maybe this something had opened his eyes.

He looked at her for a moment longer than necessary and slowly began to speak. "I have a friend. She's good-looking, smart, strong. She—" He smiled. "She reminds me a lot of you," he said, and she unknowingly beamed. "This weekend, she just, she got hurt. Not badly hurt. She, uh, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, you know?" He took a deep breath and chuckled nervously. " I don't really know where I'm going with this," he admitted, smiling sheepishly.

"I think I do," she replied softly, and she was momentarily struck by this side of Eric that she'd never seen, though she was shown glimpses before that proved it existed. Even with that knowledge, she'd never imagined it to be quite like _this_. She ran her fingers quickly through her hair. "Your friend, she's okay?"

He nodded. "She needed a few stitches but she's a tough girl. She's lucky that the perp didn't try anything funny."

"That's good."

He nodded again. "Yeah, you know, I think you'd like her. She's actually staying over at my place for a while so if you—"

"Oh!" she said loudly, surprised, and quickly, her pale cheeks flushed with color. She bit her lip. "Okay."

"Is that—" He smiled, amused by her reaction. "Something wrong?" he teased.

"No. No, of course not." She laughed softly, but the embarrassment still showed. "I mean, she's your friend," she rationalized. "Not that there'd be something wrong if she wasn't—"

"Yeah, just a friend," he confirmed, nodding, and it was so strangely satisfying to see her a little flustered.

Was she jealous? She didn't seem the type, but then again, what the hell did he know? Maybe she had simply been caught off guard by the fact that someone was staying over at his apartment, but why should she be surprised? He frowned. Maybe she pictured him with strange women over at night, but he quickly dismissed that thought. He looked at her, and it was different, somehow. He smiled.

"Hey, you know that if, God forbid, you get injured and needed someone to watch over you for a while…"

She smiled back, and she really did look beautiful in that moment, even more so than usual, her cheeks tinted, her lips upturned. "I've got your number," she said, finishing his thought.

He chuckled. "Good, don't be afraid to use it."

Someone else entered the locker room then, and the two of them turned around to see Speed standing there with an expressionless look on his face. Speed's brows furrowed.

"Do you guys need a moment or something?" he asked, looking from Eric to Calleigh and back.

It was only then that Eric realized just how close they were standing and how compromising the whole thing could've looked to a third party. He took a step back.

"No, Speed, I'm done here," Eric said, turning to close his locker but it was already closed, so he cursed at himself and spun around.

Speed continued giving both of them skeptical looks. "'Cause for a second, I thought—"

"Speedle," Calleigh interrupted. "He was just leaving."

It was strange for Eric to hear her saying that, because it almost seemed like she was providing an excuse, like they actually _needed_ an explanation for the innocent conversation they had. Maybe it wasn't so innocent after all? He gave Calleigh a quick smile and turned to leave the locker room.

Once past Speed and out of the locker room, Eric heard Speed ask, "You and Delko?"

Calleigh's response was distant, softer, and Eric couldn't fully make out the words, but it sounded like, "That's none of your business."

Then again, maybe that was wishful thinking at its finest.


	7. 107, Breathless

**Episode 1.07, Breathless**

_"What do you got there, Delko?" Speed asked through the cage door of the evidence room._

_On the other side, Megan punched in a code to open the cage door. Eric stood behind her, arms full with several long, black objects._

_"Spear guns," he replied, as Megan pulled open the door and the two entered._

_Calleigh looked up. "I'll trade you some stale caviar for some of those nifty spear guns," she offered._

_Eric grimaced. "I hate fish eggs."_

-/-/-

Speed wandered into the print lab, hands in his pockets. He approached the lone figure and watched Eric hunched over a set of fingerprints. He didn't notice him standing there, so Speed cleared his throat. Eric looked up and nodded in acknowledgement, before returning to his prints.

Speed exhaled. "Whenever you wanna have that talk," he said.

Eric looked up again and chuckled. "What are you talking about?"

"You." Speed paused. "Calleigh."

Eric was confused for a moment. "What, the fish eggs? I don't like f—"

"The fish eggs," Speed mocked. "No, Delko, whatever the hell is going on between you and Calleigh."

Eric scoffed. "You think there's something going on with me and Calleigh?"

Speed simply raised his eyebrows.

Eric chuckled. "Yeah, right," he mumbled, returning to his fingerprints. "I wish."

That got Speed's attention. "Yeah? Do you?"

Eric stood up straight, fingerprints forgotten. "What's with the third degree?" he demanded.

"You didn't answer my question."

"What's it matter, anyway?" Eric asked, sounding a lot more defensive than he would've liked. He looked down at his fingerprints and sighed. "She probably has a boyfriend."

"She doesn't."

"Okay, well," Eric continued, gesticulating in the air, "she… probably isn't looking for one."

"And if she were?" Speed pressed.

Eric groaned. "C'mon, man, give me a break. Don't you have a case to work on?" he asked, looking to change the subject.

Speed shrugged. "I'm on break."

"So in the only fifteen minutes of freedom you have all day, you decide to come fuck with me?" Eric asked incredulously, wishing Speed would leave him alone so he could return to work, though he doubted very much that he would be able to focus after this conversation.

Before Speed could answer, Calleigh barged in, reading the contents of a file she held in her hands.

"Tim," she said, turning to the two men, "did you process the trace on Nikki's shirt?"

"I'm on break," Speed repeated.

"I know," Calleigh said with a slight smile. "I meant, before break."

"No, I didn't," Speed replied. When Calleigh shot him a threatening look, he cleared his throat. "Uh, you know what? I think I'll go get that done now."

Calleigh smiled sweetly. "Thank you, Tim," she called out as Speed left the lab.

As Calleigh approached Eric, he could tell that despite her strict treatment of Speed, she was in a good mood, which made Eric immediately forget that he had been working on the same prints for the past two hours.

She reached the table and leaned her weight against it. "I'm going to buy a spear gun," she announced, smiling brightly.

He arched an eyebrow, not sharing her enthusiasm. "There's one in the gun vault all the time," he said.

"But not one at home," she explained.

He smiled. "You're never going to get to use it, anyway," he said, "not unless you want to get arrested."

"My gun license covers them," she replied.

"Yeah," he nodded, "but it's a spear gun."

"I know, isn't it exciting?" she asked enthusiastically.

He chuckled. "No, I mean, it's a _spear_ _gun_," he emphasized.

She cocked her head to the side in confusion. "I'm not sure I follow."

"So," he replied, hinting obviousness, "you can't go shoot it off in your backyard." He smiled at her blank look. "You need to use it in the water, in the ocean," he explained.

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "I've never gone diving before."

"It's incredible," he said.

"It looks incredible." She paused thoughtfully. "I've always wanted to go."

"Why haven't you?"

"I think—" She smiled timidly and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear. "I think that the first time, you have to be shown the ocean by someone you trust, you know? Diving instructors are nice, and correct me if I'm wrong, but that first dive, it should be with someone special, shouldn't it?"

"Yeah," he replied with a short nod, an image of his oldest sister showing him the beauties of the water filling his mind. He smiled at the memory, and as Calleigh turned to examine her file again, Eric blurted out, "This weekend, we're going."

Calleigh's head snapped up. "Diving?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, it'll be fun," he replied, shrugging. "Why, you got other plans?"

"No, but—"

"We can go pick up a spear gun first," he interrupted, sensing her protest. "Don't tell me you can resist trying out your shiny new spear gun," he teased.

"Yeah. Yeah, okay, we'll go," she agreed. She smiled and put down her folder. "You're flattering yourself, though," she added coyly.

He chuckled. "What do you mean?"

She leaned in. "You think you're 'someone special'?" she whispered.

He tried to act insulted but was distracted when he got a whiff of her perfume. "Are—are you saying I'm not?"

She smiled but ignored his question. "I don't have diving equipment," she said.

"We'll rent you a suit," he replied, suddenly excited. "It'd be best if we get a boat, too."

Calleigh gawked at him. "How much is it? We'll split the bill."

"Hey, don't worry about that. I have connections." He smiled. "I wasn't underwater recovery for three and a half years for nothing,"

"You're serious about this," she said, and he thought that she sounded a little surprised by this.

He nodded. "Yeah, aren't you?"

She smiled brightly. "Yes, I'd love to go diving with you," she replied definitively.

Eric felt a stupid grin spreading across his face. "I gotta get back to work," he said, motioning toward his fingerprints. "This weekend?"

Calleigh's smile widened. "Yeah, this weekend," she agreed. She looked like she wanted to say more, but then turned to leave. She took two steps, stopped and turned her head to look at Eric. "For the record," she added softly, "you are."

"I'm what?"

"You're someone special."


	8. 108, Slaughterhouse

**Episode 1.08, Slaughterhouse**

_"Baby's first jewelry was an amulet?" Eric asked, holding up a shiny red charm attached to a chain._

_"Oh, you can get them at any corner botanica," Calleigh replied._

_Eric raised an eyebrow. "Not exactly the place you'd shop for a newborn," he noted, putting the necklace back._

_"They're actually supposed to ward off evil spirits."_

-/-/-

Calleigh entered the trace lab and spotted Eric squinting at a piece of fabric.

"Hey," she said, taking a few steps toward him, "did you know that Mr. Caplin, the dad, was…" She trailed off, noticing that Eric wasn't paying an ounce of attention to her. She approached, but still, he stared straight at the cloth in his hands. "Eric?" she asked softly, worry slipping through.

He looked up. "Oh, hey, Calleigh," he replied absentmindedly.

Calleigh tilted her head in confusion. "Is something the matter?" she asked, case forgotten.

"What, no." He blinked, shook his head. "No. I'm fine."

"Eric," she rebuked.

He chuckled tiredly and closed his eyes for a moment. "It's just, my sister. She had a baby—"

"Oh," Calleigh exclaimed, "tell her congratulations!"

Eric smiled. "I will," he nodded. "So yeah, her husband's fighting off a bout of pneumonia and didn't want to risk the baby's health, so he spent the night at a friend's house. Of course, my sister started freaking out in the middle of the night." He shook his head and chuckled. "She called me, and I ended up spending the night warming up bottles and trying to convince her that baby Carlos wasn't going to spontaneously grow a second head."

Calleigh laughed softly. "First-time mothers," she offered as an explanation.

"Yeah?" He arched an eyebrow. "You gonna be nervous, too?"

Calleigh bit her lip and looked away, appearing a little uncomfortable.

Eric took the hint and backed off, changing the subject smoothly and passing off the question as rhetorical. "Needless to say, I didn't get that much sleep." He finally dropped the evidence in his hands and stretched against the table. "But I'm okay," he added defensively.

"Well, you know," Calleigh suggested, "if you're tired, you should probably go home and get some rest."

Eric shrugged. "I'm alright."

Calleigh nodded but didn't back down. "I'll cover for you," she offered.

"I'm fine, Calleigh," he said, irritation seeping through.

His crankiness only further convinced Calleigh that he needed the rest, but before she had a chance to counter, the phone clipped at Eric's waist began vibrating violently. Eric let out a grunt of frustration, snapped it off his waist and brought it to his ear.

"Izza," he growled, "I'm not gonna tell you how to burp the baby again." He paused and listened intently, lips pursed. "Well, why don't you call ma? I'm sure she can help you." He scoffed at his sister's response and ran his free hand over his face, thumb and ring finger coming to rest on his temples. "No, Isabel," he said in annoyance, a slight Spanish accent coloring his words. "I can't right now. I'm at work," he emphasized. Finally, he sighed in resignation. "Look, I'll drop by after shift; how's that?" He stared off into space expectantly, but his offer seemed to have calmed his sister because a few moments later, he glanced briefly at Calleigh and said, "Hey, Izza, my friend Calleigh sends her congratulations." At the next thing his sister said, his lips slowly curved up to a grin and his cheeks tinted slightly, and for whatever reason, that made Calleigh's own cheeks heat up.

Finally, after saying goodbye to his sister, he pulled the phone from his ear and re-clipped it to his belt. He turned to Calleigh again, who was looking at him in amusement.

Eric chuckled. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"You're adorable," she cooed, not really meaning for it to come out as coy as it did.

Eric's grinned foolishly. "My sister," he rambled, "she has a baby and doesn't even know how to burp him. I told her to call our mother, but she's too proud and thinks ma will be too doting. The baby's barely three weeks old, for fuck's sake, how's ma gonna spoil him?" he asked hurriedly, waving his hands around for emphasis.

Eric couldn't help it; he found himself uncharacteristically nervous around Calleigh, especially recently, after Speed had really mentioned it. And then, there was the diving trip, which would've gone a lot better if Eric hadn't trip over himself all day, his experience in the water not showing at all. Calleigh hadn't seemed to mind though, and if she had noticed his anxiety, she sure hadn't mentioned it. Despite his awkwardness, he had a blast, and if her uninhibited laughter had been any indication, she had, too. And Calleigh in a wetsuit? Not even gonna go there right now, Eric decided.

He looked over at Calleigh, who was smiling. "Your sister sounds a lot like you," she teased.

Eric gaped at her. "What? How do you figure?"

"Well, you know," she hinted, "freaks out about nothing."

"I do _not_ freak out about nothing," he replied indignantly, then chuckled at his own hypocrisy. "Maybe sometimes," he laughed, yawning loudly.

"Yeah," she nodded, smiling. Then she turned serious. "C'mon, Eric, I'm taking you home. You need some rest. This case isn't going to be solved today."

He shook his head stubbornly. "No."

Calleigh crossed her arms over her chest. "Eric Delko," she scolded, "if you don't do what I say, I'm not going diving with you ever again."

"What?! That's not fair," he whined, the threat having its intended effect. He smiled. "You had fun, though?" he asked hopefully, feeling every bit fifteen again.

She nodded, a bright smile spreading across her face. "Yeah, it was as amazing as I thought it would be." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "You don't have to be nervous next time," she whispered.

He nearly choked on himself. "I—" He stared at her in horror, until he realized that she was teasing. His cheeks flushed regardless, and he tried to hide it by nodding quickly. "Okay," he chuckled, "as long as you overcome your fear of jellyfish."

"They sting!" she protested.

"Your wetsuit was made to protect you against them!" he shot back.

Calleigh smiled, relenting. She studied him for a moment. "Tell you what, compromise: go lie down in the break room, catch an hour or two of sleep, and I'll leave you alone."

"I'm sure Horatio's going to be okay with his CSI napping in the break room when there are four members of the same family lying on stone slabs in the morgue," he said humorlessly. He sighed. "Max was only six weeks old. Carlos—" He closed his mouth, not liking the way his voice came out, almost shaky.

Calleigh brought up a hand to rest on his shoulder. "Is that why this case is affecting you so much?" she asked softly. "Your new nephew?"

Eric shrugged, eyeing Calleigh's hand dangerously. "He was just too young," he sighed.

Calleigh nodded. "I understand." She offered a small smile. "We'll figure it out, okay? But please, for everybody's sake, go lie down for a little while."

"Cal—"

"Don't make me drag you."

He made an exaggerated protesting noise but followed her out of the trace lab and into the break room, made another as she told him to lie down on the couch.

"There are probably bodily fluids here," Eric said with a grimace.

"Probably yours," Calleigh retorted teasingly. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

She left for the locker room, where she grabbed a blanket she kept around for long shifts, and brought it back to Eric.

"Lie down," she told him, draping the blanket over his body.

Eric groaned but complied, resting his head on the armrest. Immediately, his eyes drifted.

"I'm not tired," he enunciated slowly.

Calleigh smiled. "Okay," she replied.

"Okay," he echoed with a yawn, head falling to one side.

Calleigh ruffled his hair and waited for a light snore before returning to her case, a satisfied smile across her face.


	9. 109, Kill Zone

**Episode 1.09, Kill Zone**

_"Snipers are patient," Calleigh explained. "They can lay in wait for days waiting for the target. If conditions aren't right, they won't take the shot."_

_"You know a lot about snipers," Horatio noted._

_Calleigh looked up. "I used to date one," she replied. "Marine corps, special op, three-eight kills. He's retired now. He runs a rifle range about an hour away."_

_"You still friends?" Horatio asked._

_"Yeah."_

-/-/-

Eric wandered toward the ballistics lab, intent on finding the right person to spend his fifteen-minute break with. Calleigh never seemed to mind when he dropped himself off there for some light conversation, almost seemed to appreciate the company sometimes. Well, unless he got in her way, that is, which had only happened once, and Eric had vowed never to let that happen again.

Calleigh was sitting down – rare when there were so many guns around – reviewing a report, pen in hand. She looked up when she heard the door.

Eric approached her and grinned. "Brought you some coffee," he said, offering her a warm mug.

She dropped her pen and took the mug from him, appearing relieved. "Oh, thank the lord for your thoughtfulness, Eric." She brought the mug to her lips and took a generous sip.

He grinned. "So I heard about your sniper friend," he remarked.

She placed her mug down for a moment. "Yeah," she nodded, and if she knew what he was getting at, she didn't show it. "He really gave us a lead on the case."

He pulled out a chair and sat down across from her. "So that's what it takes to date Calleigh Duquesne, huh?" he teased. "Three-eight kills?"

She chuckled. "Why? You think you got what it takes, Eric Delko?" she returned, still sipping away at her coffee.

He grinned, deciding not to broach her question. Way too dangerous, and he would probably make a fool of himself attempting to coherently answer. For the moment, he was simply glad to be able to joke with her like this, even if it was nothing more than that.

"Figured it'd take some major gunmanship to catch your eye." He smiled and watched her take another sip of coffee. It was mesmerizing sometimes; she could make simple gestures appear to be an exquisite craft.

She didn't even look up. "Takes other skills, too," she added with a grin that revealed exactly what she had in mind.

Jesus Christ, Eric thought. He wasn't about to approach that with a fifty-foot pole. He was pretty sure that even if he had wanted to retort, he'd end up biting his own tongue off and spewing a disgusting mixture of saliva and blood everywhere. Still, a nice mental image had sneaked its way into his brain and he had a feeling it was there to stay. He honestly couldn't complain too much about it, though.

"You know," Calleigh began again, "my mom never really liked the guns." She looked up and smiled faintly. "My dad loved them, but my mom, she hated that my dad brought me hunting. Didn't think it was fit for a lady." She looked back down at her mug and picked at it with her fingernail. "My mom was a good sport about it, though. She would say, 'if y'all keep bringing home deer, Santa's not gonna have any left to pull his sleigh.'" The corners of her lips upturned slightly at the memory, and she looked up once more, catching Eric gazing at her intensely. "What?" she asked self-consciously.

He shook his head. "Nothing. It's just that I never hear you talk about your family." He smiled. "It's nice."

"My family's kind of crazy," she said with a laugh.

He chuckled. "You should meet mine."

"You're close with your family, though," she commented. "I bet that's nice."

He sensed sadness there, a primal yearning for something she'd never experience but somehow knew she was supposed to have. He tried to picture her as a child but found it difficult, and he almost asked but held back on the understanding that she probably didn't like talking about it too much. He figured it was probably best to drop it. Another day.

"It wasn't all bad, you know?" she continued, surprising him. She smiled slightly. "My mom tried, I think, to fill the voids my dad left some nights." She bit her lip and squirmed almost imperceptibly in her seat.

This was a side of Calleigh that Eric rarely was given an opportunity to see. Actually, he didn't remember her ever opening up like this, and he had to admit, it was nice, even if the memories seemed to have dampened her mood. He got the feeling that it'd be a while before he caught another moment like this again, and he wanted to make the most of this precious opportunity, but he found himself not knowing what to say. He wanted her to continue but he knew he couldn't just ask. He didn't have to, as it turned out.

"It didn't really work, but I think everyone appreciated the attempt." She took another sip of coffee and frowned. "During the worst of it, my brothers, they were out of the house a lot, and eventually, it became typical for one of them not to come home for a week at a time. I knew that hurt my mom. I tried to be around for her, but—" She trailed off, shrugging her shoulder slightly. "I don't know. I actually haven't talked to her in a long while." She looked up and chuckled dismissively. "Sorry, I don't mean to be such a wet blanket."

"No, hey," he said gently, shaking his head. It really wasn't fair, but he figured she knew that herself and wouldn't want him throwing a fit or making a huge deal about it, so he pushed his bitterness aside and smiled. "I think your mom appreciates your gestures more than you may think."

She rolled her palms against her mug for a moment but said nothing. He didn't push it, because the very fact that she trusted him with this knowledge was telling, and it felt like she just wanted him to sit in silence with her for a little while. At least he hoped it was what she wanted, because there wasn't much else he could offer. It felt like it was enough, and maybe, maybe he figured a little part of her out.

The silence was more pensive than uncomfortable, and he settled somewhere between an understanding friend and a loyal confidante, someone he hoped she'd turn to again in the future. He liked to think it was more than mere coincidence that she'd decided to reveal a snippet of her childhood to him, something he knew she rarely would even consider doing. He'd heard rumors around the lab, but rarely had any ever circulated about Calleigh. That probably also had to do with the fact that she was the best shot in all of Miami, but still, he understood she wasn't one to prance around with her private life emblazoned on the front of her shirt for all to see.

He reached over and touched her hand briefly. It was warm, and he felt it twitch at the contact, but he trailed his fingertips lightly across her hand, if only to let her know that he was still there, would still be there tomorrow, the day after, whenever she needed him. Though childhood stories usually weren't such a big deal, he knew they were to her, and that was all that preoccupied his mind.

Another minute passed without a word, then suddenly, she gave his hand a quick pat. "Your break's probably up, huh?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He smiled. "I can stay a little while longer," he offered, sensing that perhaps, in the far reaches of her mind, she wanted that.

But she shook her head, just as he'd expected her to. "Get back to work, Eric." She patted his hand again. "Thanks."

He stood up. "To be continued?" he prodded hopefully.

She looked defensive for a moment, then eased off again. "Okay," she agreed. "To be continued this weekend. We're still going diving, right?"

"Yeah," he replied, grinning foolishly at the thought. He leaned down and lowered his voice. "Looks like I didn't need three-eight kills," he added playfully, earning him a chuckle and the slightest hint of pink cheeks.


	10. 110, A Horrible Mind

**Episode 1.10, A Horrible Mind**

_Detective Adell Sevilla stood at the edge of the water, peering out at Eric, clad in full diving gear._

_"Bring you back to the days when you were drinking murky canal water and dining on rusty car parts?" she called out jokingly._

_"Yeah, don't knock it," he replied. "Underwater recovery gets all the chicks."_

-/-/-

"Hey, how's your case?" Eric asked as he entered the break room and spotted Calleigh eating her lunch – a chicken salad, from what he could see – at the table, skimming through a magazine.

"Gory," she replied, crinkling her nose slightly. She looked up from the magazine. "Yours?"

He moved to the fridge, pulled open the door and poked around for a moment. "Smelly." He made a face. "Got a bloater," he explained.

She nodded. "At least you get to be near the water, right?"

"Dirty canal water," he chuckled, "yeah." He closed the fridge and groaned. "But hey, beggars can't be choosers."

Eric dug into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting a five-dollar bill from within. He stuffed the wallet back into his pocket and headed to the vending machine in the corner of the break room. After pressing a few buttons, he found himself five dollars poorer and a turkey sub richer. He studied the sandwich for a moment, and after mentally declaring it edible, he opening the plastic wrapping and took a bite. A little dry, but better than going hungry for the rest of the day. He carried the sub to the table and sat down across from Calleigh.

She was smiling. "Did your mom forget to pack you a lunch?" she teased.

"Funny," he retorted wryly, taking another bite and chewing thoughtfully. "Actually," he added, swallowing, "I was just running late this morning and didn't have time to put one together."

"Want some chicken?" she asked, poking at the strips of grilled chicken in her salad with her fork. She skewered a piece and held it out to him.

He chuckled and leaned forward, which seemed to startle her momentarily. He figured out much later that she'd probably expected him to take the fork from her and feed himself, though in that moment, she didn't seem to have too many complaints about him approaching her. She smiled and looked away – telling, that – as he pulled the strip of chicken off her fork with his teeth and feasted on real meat, not the "turkey" cold-cuts in his sandwich.

The pair ate in silence for a few minutes, Calleigh suddenly very interested in the magazine beside her. That was alright with Eric, who was content simply being able to watch her do mundane things like eating lunch or reading (though not really reading) magazines.

"You know," he said suddenly, shattering the silence, "I kinda miss underwater recovery sometimes."

She looked up. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "I miss the guys."

"And the girls?" she asked with a knowing smile.

He grinned at the thought. "Some of them," he admitted, chuckling lightly.

She looked down at her salad, suddenly not very hungry anymore. She cursed herself from feeling that, something resembling irrationality, and she didn't know why little innocent comments like that would invoke that ever-so-slight tightening in her chest and that almost-imperceptible flush to her cheeks. Still, she refused to acknowledge anything by the name of jealousy, because she knew she simply had no reason to be.

Eric, slowly making his way down his sub, caught the quick shift in her mood and frowned. "I wouldn't go back though," he assured her rather unnecessarily.

She nodded with feigned inattention. "Paycheck's probably better here," she remarked.

His frown deepened at her dismissive tone. "That's not why I couldn't imagine leaving, though," he tried again, softer this time.

She looked up at him then, and he thought she probably understood what he'd just implied, though he couldn't be sure based on her reaction alone. She didn't say anything for a moment, simply studied him. Finally, she assessed, "You have made a lot of friends here."

"Yeah," he agreed slowly, "I have." He gave her a moment then shrugged, deciding he wouldn't do that thing she did, with the evasion and the walls. Too energy-consuming, as far as he was concerned. "I couldn't really imagine waking up tomorrow morning and not getting to see you," he stated without much fanfare.

But she'd felt the intensity in his words, and she believed them immediately, though she didn't particularly trust herself to form a coherent reply.

He finished the last bite of his sandwich and bunched up the wrapping into a ball. Pivoting in his seat, he took aim at the trash can on the other side of the room and shot the plastic wrapper into the air. It bounced off the rim and disappeared into the bin.

He turned back to Calleigh and smiled. "I don't think the chicks that come with underwater recovery are really worth what I've got now."


	11. 111, Camp Fear

**Episode 1.11, Camp Fear**

_"Leeches just fascinate me," Calleigh announced with a smile, watching intently as Alexx processed their latest victim._

_"Leech saliva," Alexx replied.__ "Medical marvel, you know. It contains enzymes that expand your blood vessels."_

_Calleigh used a syringe to extract a small sample from the leech. "__Kind of like Viagra," she suggested._

_The medical examiner chuckled. "Well, not quite. __Unlike Viagra," she emphasized, "it contains a mild anesthetic so you don't feel the bite."_

_"__Don't you hate it when that happens?" she drawled._

-/-/-

"What've you got there?" Eric asked, motioning toward the vial of fluid sitting next to Calleigh on the locker room bench. He turned away and began fiddling with his lock.

"Leech saliva," she answered proudly.

He pulled open his locker and made a face. "What are you doing with leech saliva?"

She picked up the vial and rolled it between her fingertips. "Alexx gave it to me."

He chuckled. "Early Christmas present?"

She shot him a threatening look. "No," she replied with a small smile. "This tiny bit of liquid could save your life, you know."

"Really," he replied, tossing her a skeptical glance.

"Yeah," she nodded, examining the vial, "it expands the blood vessels."

"Kinda like Viagra," he snickered.

"That's what I said!" she exclaimed.

He raised his eyebrow in amusement, biting back a teasing response.

She flushed momentarily before regaining her composure. "But Alexx explained that it also contains a mild anesthetic to numb the nerves."

He laughed. "That's too bad." He dug around in his locker for a few more moments, then cleared his throat. "Anyway," he broached, pulling out a small wrapped box from within his locker, "Merry Christmas." He held out the package to her, but she simply stared at him like he'd grown a second head. He chuckled nervously. "It's not leech saliva," he reassured her.

"It's… not Christmas," she countered uneasily, carefully eyeing the tiny bow that sat atop the box.

He shrugged and took a seat next to her, turning the present over and over in his hands. "It will be in a little over a week," he explained, "and I'm, uh, I'm leaving for Russia tomorrow."

Her face fell. "Russia? Why?"

"You know," he mumbled, avoiding her eyes, "family."

She frowned, searching for the high-spirited person who had entered the locker room mere minutes ago. "I thought most of your extended family lived in Cuba," she probed, hoping his reaction would give her some insight into what had suddenly dampened his mood.

"They do," he nodded. He looked at her, saw the concern in her eyes and had to turn away like it could scald him. He hated seeing her worried. "My grandfather passed."

"Oh, Eric, I'm sorry," she whispered, her hand coming to rest on his knee. "Were you two close?"

"Actually, not particularly," he confessed, sighing silently. "I wish we had been, but my Russian's pretty rusty and I guess I just never tried. My dad's taking it pretty hard though." He traced a finger absentmindedly over her knuckles. "Anyway, I gotta go with him to the funeral."

"When will you be back?" she asked, and she couldn't help but feel selfish the moment the question left her lips. It was of complete insignificance when he'd be back; nothing mattered beyond how he was feeling, but she couldn't help but want him around during what she knew would be another lonely Christmas season.

He pressed his lips into a thin line. "Probably not until the new year," he admitted. "H gave me the time off."

"That's nice of him," she commented, watching as his fingers continued stroking hers. "You're okay?"

"Yeah, of course," he dismissed, eyebrows furrowing. "Anyway, that's why I wanted to give you your present early," he explained, picking her hand off his knee and dropping the small box onto her open palm.

"I didn't… get you anything yet," she said hesitantly, cradling the present like movement would cause it to explode.

"That's okay," he replied. "It's nothing special."

"No," she protested, "it's—"

"Open it," he urged.

Slowly and very carefully, she untied the ribbon, then picked at the tape and gently peeled off the wrapping paper, revealing an otherwise-ordinary wooden box the size and weight of an abridged dictionary. There was a tiny dolphin carved on the bottom-left corner, and she traced the simple but delicate shape with her fingertip. Feeling needlessly nervous, she flipped open the box and found an album of some sort resting inside. She removed the book, gently placing the box beside her on the bench, and when she turned to the first page, her heart nearly stopped.

It was a photo of her, clad in full diving gear minus the mask, caught mid-laughter. She didn't remember what she was laughing about, but the look on her face spoke of unadulterated bliss. She flipped the page. The next photo, she remembered; Eric was in the water and trying to coax her to join him, and she was putting up one hell of a fight. In the next, they were treading water, and he was helping her adjust her mask.

She tore her eyes away from the page and turned to the sheepish Cuban sitting next to her. "Eric…" she breathed, "who took these?"

He chuckled apprehensively. "You remember my friend Larry?"

"Of course," she nodded. "He helped me find a suit."

"Yeah, he's an amateur photographer," Eric explained. He watched as she turned back to the album, and he shifted nervously, aware that her desire for privacy could've trumped his thoughtfulness. "Are you mad?"

Her head snapped up. "Are you serious? This is the most—" She didn't finish her thought, couldn't, because suddenly, she felt overwhelmed by what he'd done for her. She took a deep breath. "I can't believe you put this together," she murmured.

He smiled and watched her flip through a few more pages of the album, then quickly ran his hand down her arm and stood up. He moved back to his locker and began compulsively rearranging its contents.

"I can't believe I won't see you until the new year," Calleigh said quietly, fitting the album back into the box and walking over to him.

He turned to her and smiled sadly. "I'll miss you."

She chuckled. "I miss you already," she whispered.

He felt a tiny twinge of something heavy in his chest and carefully drew her into his arms. She eased into his embrace for a moment but before he could even commit her scent to memory, she pulled away and offered a shy smile.

"I'll give you your gift when you get back," she told him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

He smiled and couldn't help but ask, "Leech saliva?"


	12. 112, Entrance Wound

**Episode 1.12, Entrance Wound**

_"So he's looking straight at Greta," Calleigh noted, reviewing the security video they'd pulled from the gas station._

_Eric furrowed his brows, eyes following the movements of the gunman as he aimed through the passenger window. "But is Malcolm recognizing his employer or is he locking on a target?"_

_"I don't know," Calleigh replied. "It's not quantifiable either way."_

_"No," Eric agreed, "but this is." He pressed a button to rewind the tape and play it back in slow motion. "The average person's reaction time from sensation, perception through response, is one-point-five seconds."_

_"How do you know that?" she asked._

_"Auto insurance studies," he dismissed. "Now, for an unexpected stimulus, the brain needs even more processing time."_

_She nodded. "Say, for example, if you weren't accustomed to having someone pull a gun on you," she suggested._

_"Exactly," he agreed. "The video images are shot at one-thirtieth of a second intervals. She ducked in one-point-one seconds. Olympians aren't even that fast."_

-/-/-

It was common knowledge: Eric Delko's favorite place in the world was the ocean. The swimming pool, well, that was a pretty close second. The same water; no salt but with the distinct smell of chlorine. He loved it. The only thing better was the breeze in the open sea.

He had to admit, Calleigh was making it a pretty tough fight between the two now. She was sitting at the edge of the pool, legs dipped in the water. A towel was draped over her shoulders, hiding beneath it the most unbelievable sight Eric had ever seen in his life. He'd found it difficult not to stare, but she didn't seem to mind the attention, and it was an indescribable experience to watch her at ease, so liberated and just… happy. Her hair was damp and she was beaming, her eyes following his graceful paddles through the water.

He swam up to her and held onto the edge to stay afloat. "How long are you gonna sit there?" he asked, fingers wrapping around her calf and tugging gently.

She shook his hand off, splashing water in the process. "I like watching you," she said coyly, pulling her towel tighter around herself.

He chuckled. "I thought you wanted to work on your stroke."

"I did," she nodded. She smiled and splashed some more water on him. "You're too fast for me."

"I was just showing off," he admitted sheepishly. "Come on," he urged, releasing the ledge and carefully encircling her ankles with his hands. Rules and boundaries seemed to be allowed to be bent while near bodies of water, and Eric loved that, loved that he could be this physically close to her without her being wary of personal space.

She pushed the towel off her shoulders, bunched it up and tossed it toward where the rest of their belongings rested. She pushed herself off the edge and slid into the water next to Eric. Immediately, she kicked off the side of the pool and swam past him, her body ghosting around his. Before he could react and turn to face her, she placed her hands on his shoulders and used him as a buoy, her legs kicking underneath the water to ensure he wouldn't have to do all the work.

"How did you get this place emptied out?" she asked, fingers sliding across the warm skin on his shoulders.

He nearly forgot how to stay afloat, but luckily, his back was to her. He took a deep breath, wondering if she knew just what she was doing to him. Knowing Calleigh, she probably did. Probably was enjoying the hell out of watching him squirm, too.

"Pool's supposed to close at 10," he replied as evenly as he could muster, craning his head in an attempt to get a good look at her. "But I know the guy who usually does the lockup, so…"

"Special strokes for special folks?" she supplied.

"Yeah," he chuckled distractedly, "something like that." He reached for the ledge, because he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep afloat when her fingers kept molding his shoulders, when her legs kept accidentally brushing against his, when the hot air she released as she spoke kept hitting the back of his neck. "He, uh, he used to keep the pool unlocked for me during my college days, too."

"Let me guess," she said suggestively. "You'd bring your dates here to impress them."

He chuckled as his hand finally came to rest on the edge of the pool again. He picked one of her hands off his shoulder and pulled her around to face him. "Nah, they were treated to the hot tub," he teased, his free hand coming to rest against her waist.

She wriggled out of his grasp, and though she tried not to show it, though she _knew_ he was just kidding, she couldn't help but feel something there, something that she knew wasn't purely platonic, something that resembled jealousy too much to not be it, and the very idea that she wasn't in control of everything this time frustrated her beyond words.

At that thought, she dove underwater and felt a wave of calmness wash over her, the pool engulfing her in a blanket of tranquility. No wonder Eric loved the water so damn much, she thought as she navigated herself toward the center of the pool. It was quiet down there, and the very ticks of time seemed to slow down dramatically. Being alone never felt better.

Suddenly, she felt a pair of arms wrap around her, and she decided that having company wasn't too bad either. She allowed Eric to pull her up out of the water, and when she resurfaced and opened her eyes, she found herself being held from behind. To her surprise, she didn't have much of a problem with that.

"It was a joke, Calleigh," he murmured, even though he knew that she knew. His legs kicked as he guided her back to the edge of the pool.

She used her arms to pull herself out of the water and sat down at the edge again. She smiled. "I know," she replied, pushing strands of wet hair out of her face.

Eric pulled himself up and out as well, moving to retrieve their towels before wrapping one around her and tossing the other around himself. He sat down beside her, mimicking her and letting his legs dangle over the edge of the pool. She leaned into him, her head coming to rest on his toweled shoulder.

He grinned, and he couldn't remember a more perfect moment than this. He remembered something else though; a story he'd been waiting to tell.

"The guy who opened the pool for me," he started, testing the words as he went along. "He'd do it 'cause I—" He trailed off and chuckled uneasily. "At one point, I thought—well, some people thought that I had a shot at the Olympics."

She lifted her head up and turned to gaze intently at him. "Swimming?"

"Swimming," he confirmed with a small, nostalgic smile. "It was a long shot," he added tightly, "but I think at one point, I really believed it."

Her hands found his, and she played absentmindedly with his pruned fingers. "What—what happened?"

"Injury," he breathed, sounding like he was going through the whole ordeal all over again. "Strained a muscle in my shoulder."

"Oh," she whispered, "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Don't be," he told her. He smiled and laced his fingers through hers. "At the time, I took it pretty rough, but I'm happier with what I'm doing now." He took a deep breath. "Besides, I probably wouldn't have made it."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I don't believe that."

He smiled gratefully, feeling inexplicably lighter. "Maybe," he murmured, letting a hint of possibility whirl in his head. That was, after all, what dreams were all about.

She rested her head back onto his shoulder and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of chlorine and the man beside her. Secretly, and maybe a little selfishly, she'd admit, she was glad that instead of competing at the Olympics, Eric Delko was here with her, sharing with her this beautiful night.


	13. 113, Bunk

**Episode 1.13, Bunk**

_"So this is Breckenhurst Retirement Community," Calleigh commented, eyeing the building the two CSIs were heading toward._

_"I'd never put my grandmother in a place like this," Eric said resentfully. "When she dies, she's going to be in my house, with our priest, surrounded by family."_

_"Oh, not my grandma," Calleigh replied lightheartedly. "I want every day for her to be New Year's Eve – drinking mimosas, giving old men a hard time."_

_"Yeah," Eric chuckled, holding up the police tape to allow Calleigh to pass under. "Southern," he added with a smirk._

_She grinned. "Cuban," she quipped._

-/-/-

Most days, the CSIs of the Miami-Dade crime lab were so swamped with work, the idea of leaving the lab to grab a cup of coffee on break seemed ridiculous. If anyone wanted coffee, they'd drink the mediocre brew in the break room; if they wanted special garnishes, they were quite simply out of luck.

Once in a blue moon, however, criminal activity around Miami seemed to ebb, and on those off days, there was time to take a well-deserved breath, sometimes two, and sometimes, if they were lucky, there was enough time to grab some _real_ coffee.

Today was one such day, and Eric had somehow managed to convince Calleigh to take a trip with him to what he described as a cozy coffee place two blocks away. They were already en route, but Calleigh seemed to oppose the idea of taking a prolonged break.

"My reports aren't going to finish themselves," she complained as she walked in step with Eric.

"Oh, come on, Calleigh," he said, rolling his eyes. "That's _report_. Singular. When's the last time you had _one_ report to finish?"

She exaggerated a sigh and decided that he was right – not that she'd ever admit that to him. But it was a beautiful day, a light breeze accompanying the Miami sun to keep the temperature in the low seventies. It signaled the end of the short winter, and yeah, coffee would be perfect.

"Oh, God," Eric said suddenly, eyes wide and in horror.

"What?" Calleigh asked, searching his line of sight but unable to detect anything out of the ordinary.

"Nothing," he dismissed, his hand coming to rest under her elbow. He nudged her slightly. "Maybe we should—"

"Eric!" came a loud voice belonging to a tiny woman.

Eric closed his eyes and wished he could disappear off the face of the earth, but when he opened his eyes again, his grandmother was standing directly in front of him. His grip tightened on Calleigh's elbow before he dropped his arm completely.

"_Abuela_," he said, his cheeks heating up, "what are you doing here?"

The elderly woman squinted at him from behind her eyeglasses. "_Cómo?_"

"What are you doing out of Little Havana?" he tried again, in Spanish this time.

"What, I can't wander outside sometimes?" his grandmother asked, the Spanish firing rapidly from her lips. "Just because you never come visit, doesn't mean I can't—"

"Okay, okay, you're right," Eric relented, awkwardly taking a quick glance at Calleigh and wishing she weren't here to bear witness. He was pretty sure he'd never live this down. "I should visit more often," he mumbled in agreement.

"_Sí_, s_í!_" Suddenly, the woman grinned, and through the wrinkles, Calleigh learned from where Eric had inherited his perfect smile. His grandmother lowered her voice. "You aren't going to introduce me to your new girlfriend?" she asked conspiratorially, winking at Calleigh.

Eric wanted to die, and he damned whoever had taught Calleigh Spanish, because she was grinning shyly next to him and making it really, really difficult for him to concentrate on anything else. "She's not—"

His grandmother ignored him and turned to Calleigh. "Your name," she said in broken English, "what it?"

"Calleigh," she replied with a smile, holding out her hand. "_Mucho gusto_."

"Aye!" his grandmother cried, clearly pleased. She clasped Calleigh's hand with her own and shook it frantically. "_El gusto es mio_." She smiled. "Eric needs to stop keeping his girlfriends a secret from me," she added, still in Spanish. "Especially if they're as beautiful as you."

Calleigh beamed. "Thank you," she replied, playing along. "You're too kind."

Eric's grandmother turned to Eric, who looked about ready to end his own life. "Eric, how come you never bring Calleigh around to family gatherings?"

He made a disgruntled sound and rolled his eyes. "Because she's not—"

"Eh?" his grandmother interrupted, cocking her head to look at Calleigh. "Don't be afraid to speak up, M'ija," she told her as if Eric weren't there, and though Calleigh had a firm grasp on the language, she found herself entranced by the way Spanish slid so easily and harmoniously from the older woman's lips. "My baby Eric," she added, motioning toward her grandson, "he's a shy boy, but he's a keeper."

Calleigh bit her lip to hold back a laugh and nodded. "I know."

"_Abuela_," Eric interrupted, "we need to get back to—"

"Yes, yes, of course," she interrupted in her native tongue. "Your date. You young people are so _eager_ these days. Why, if my Benicio's grandmother, bless her heart—"

"_Abuela_," he pleaded.

Finally, Eric's grandmother seemed to be done embarrassing him, though that thought seemed to bring little to no comfort to Eric. She stepped on her tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek. "_Te extraño_, Eric."

"I know," he replied guiltily. "I miss you, too."

His grandmother nodded and patted him on the cheek. She turned to Calleigh and smiled. "_Nos vemos_."

Calleigh smiled back and echoed her goodbyes, and the two watched as Eric's grandmother went on her merry way.

"Oh, God, I can't believe that just happened," Eric groaned as soon as she was out of earshot, looking absolutely mortified.

"Are you kidding me?" Calleigh smirked. "Aren't you going to invite me to your family gatherings sometime?" she teased.

He nearly choked on himself then, but she was laughing, and he could tell it was just that: a joke. She hadn't meant it, and he wasn't about to dampen the mood by turning it serious. In his head, he heard the door of opportunity close tightly in front of him and frowned.

"Oh, come on, Eric," Calleigh said when she mistook his frown for something else. "She was adorable."

He grunted. "Can we just—" He cleared his throat. "Let's just go get some coffee."

"Let's invite your grandma," she suggested jokingly, impulsively brushing the back of her hand over his cheek. It was still burning and she grinned, clearly taking enjoyment in his suffering.

He groaned, his cheek flaring up even more so at the contact. Quietly, they fell into step again as they neared the coffee shop, and briefly, he wondered if perhaps Calleigh would be bothered by his grandmother's assumptions. With her, he never knew for sure, and he decided to cover his bases.

"I'm sorry she thought you were, you know," he said awkwardly before he pushed open the door for her.

She walked through the doorway and turned to him. "Your girlfriend?" she asked with a glimpse of amusement. "Why should you have to be sorry?"

"I—don't know," he replied gracelessly as he followed her to the counter. He chuckled nervously and scratched the back of his head. "I don't know how I'm going to explain this to the rest of my family."

"Tell them I broke your heart," she laughed before turning to the guy behind the counter.

He watched her order with a small smile, and in the strangest, most irrelevant sense, he was pleased that his beloved grandmother approved of the striking blonde before him.


	14. 114, Forced Entry

**Episode 1.14, Forced Entry**

_"That doesn't look like a prison tat," Speed remarked, staring at the screen, studying a picture of the tattoo they'd found lasered off their latest victim._

_"No, it doesn't," Horatio replied. "There's too much detail. Have you run it through the database?"_

_"Yeah," Speed sighed. "Nothing. I also checked with Ernie, the guy that did Calleigh's."_

_Horatio shot Speed a surprised look. "Did Calleigh's?"_

_"Yeah," Speed mumbled. "Not that she's ever going to let anybody see it, but uh, Ernie thinks this is one-of-a-kind."_

-/-/-

Eric and Calleigh were on their way back from Club Canvas, what little evidence they could collect without a warrant in tow. She was driving the county Hummer, while he sat in the passenger seat, contemplating a little tidbit of trivia that Speed had enlightened him with earlier. Except, trivia was supposed to be trivial, knowledge one could do without, but this… this was far from trivial.

"So I heard something interesting today," Eric mentioned, choosing his words carefully.

Calleigh gave him a quick glance before turning back to the road. "Okay…"

"Yeah, you know Speed and H's case?" He paused for effect. "Alexx found a tattoo on the vic's arm."

"Oh," she murmured, a tiny smile playing on her lips, "I think I know where this is going."

He grinned. "Mm-hmm."

At the next red light, she turned to him. "Speedle?" she asked.

Eric nodded. "How does he know?"

"I don't know," she chuckled, turning away to watch the traffic light. "It probably came up during an old case."

He nodded again and watched a pedestrian cross the street. "So?"

"So what?" she asked as the Hummer accelerated again.

"Well," he said, hinting obviousness, "where is it?"

"Eric—"

"'Cause I remember seeing you in a bathing suit," he pointed out, "and I don't remember any tattoo."

"I—" She bit her lip. "They're tiny, anyway," she dismissed.

"They?" he asked.

She made a face as she pulled into the MDPD parking lot. "I mean, I just—" She shook her head. "Oh, you're never going to let me live this down."

He waited until she parked the Hummer and cut the engine, then, "Can I see them?"

She turned to him and smiled slightly. "Eric, if you couldn't see them when we went swimming, I'm pretty sure you shouldn't be allowed to see them."

"But were they really hidden or did I just miss them?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "You said they were tiny."

"They were… I don't know." She hesitated. "You probably would've noticed them if you'd been looking for them."

"Wanna go swimming again?" he asked sheepishly.

She laughed, and when her laughter died down, something changed in her eyes. She gave him a demure look, then took a quick glance outside to check if anyone was near enough to see them through the tinted windows. Nobody was. She turned to him again and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Not a word to anyone, got it?"

He nodded eagerly, his pulse suddenly quickening, and he watched in astonishment as her right hand came to rest on her hip. She hooked her thumb onto the waistband of her pants and pulled it an inch and a half, revealing the creamy skin over her hipbone and the beginnings of ink.

"How did I not notice this?" he murmured, unbuckling his own seatbelt and shifting slightly in his seat to get a better look.

She smiled. "Bikini string knot, I guess," she replied, watching him apprehensively.

As she pulled the edge of her trousers a little lower, he made out a tiny tattoo, no larger than an inch wide on the side of her hip. It was a small revolver, delicately woven into her skin, and he wasn't sure if it was the beauty of the art or the intimacy of the placement – the latter, he figured, was more likely – but it took his breath away. He reached out and outlined the image with the pad of his thumb, eliciting a low gasp that she tried in vain to hold back.

His eyes shot up. She was looking out the window, and he briefly wondered if he'd imagined the noise all along, so he lightly stroked her again, this time carefully measuring her reaction. She turned to him, her eyes focused on his wandering hand, but she didn't say anything.

"When'd you get this?" he asked after a pause, still in awe.

"When I first arrived in Miami," she replied, her gaze flashing to his for a split second before returning to her tattoo. "It was more of an impulse than anything."

"It's beautiful," he told her, pressing his thumb gently against it before pulling his hand away.

She smiled and released her waistband, which sprung back to its initial position, effectively covering her tattoo. "Thanks."

"Has Speed seen it?" he couldn't help but ask, male aggression kicking in.

Though she knew the real reason behind his question, she decided to humor him. "Nobody else at the lab has seen it," she reassured him. She shot him a knowing smile. "Which is why you need to keep your mouth shut."

He nodded and held back a grin, his ego soaring. "How many more do you have?"

"Just one," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Where is it?" he asked, and he couldn't help but let his gaze rake over her body as if he had x-ray vision.

She chuckled. "On my other hip."

"A matching revolver?" he guessed, knowing her compulsion toward symmetry.

She shook her head. "Nope."

"Can I see it?"

She shook her head again and grinned. "A girl's gotta keep _some_ secrets, you know," she teased, opening the door of the Hummer and exiting, leaving Eric's overactive imagination to fill in the missing pieces.

One day, he thought. One day, he'd get her back in the pool, and this time, he'd be ready.


	15. 115, Dead Woman Walking

**Episode 1.15, Dead Woman Walking**

_"Progress?" Eric asked as he walked into the lab and noticed Calleigh working on their case._

_"Yeah," she replied. "The mystery goo we found on the floor of Risher's lab is made up of nitrogen phosphoric acid, potassium and methyl sulfide. So in other words…"_

_"Chicken dung," he concluded. "Okay, so Risher cuts through Belle's backyard, doses her O.J., and then tracks chicken remnants back to his lab."_

_Speed entered the lab behind the two and began busying himself with his own evidence._

_Calleigh hesitated. "Delko…"_

_Eric smiled. "It's not that big a deal. If you would have thought about it, you would have come up with the same conclusion."_

_"It's your nose," she said, fighting the urge to hold his head still so she could have a better look._

_Immediately, Eric's fingers snapped up to his nose, and he dabbed at it gently with his fingertips. He was bleeding. He looked at Calleigh with a semi-panicked expression across his face._

_"You think this could be from the iodine exposure?" he asked._

_"That's probably stress-related," Speed piped in. "Beta contamination does not cause nosebleeds."_

_"That's easy for you to say," Eric shot back. "You didn't breathe in radioactive money."_

_"You spent a lot of time in those canals swimming through radioactive crap," Speed replied with a hint of annoyance. "So I wouldn't be too concerned about a little nosebleed."_

_"Yeah," Calleigh agreed, "and the RM guys gave you a clean bill of health." She smiled softly. "And you do get nosebleeds in high-pressure situations," she added. Giving Eric one last look, she turned to Speed. "Speedle, did you want to tell us something?"_

-/-/-

To say that she was worried was a serious understatement.

Their job was dangerous; she knew and accepted that—for herself. Everyone else, she wished she could protect. And Eric, he was different; she _had_ to protect him. She couldn't even explain it to herself, but losing him, losing a part of him, that would destroy her. She needed him to be alive, safe and well and happy. Beyond that, nothing else mattered.

Though Speed had dismissed it and Calleigh had agreed with him for everyone's sake, she wasn't entirely convinced his nosebleed hadn't been caused by beta contamination. Radiation was dangerous and volatile, and who really knew what could and couldn't cause nosebleeds anyway?

Before the logical part of her brain could protest, she found herself in her car with a bag of green tea – her reason, her _excuse_ – and even though she knew she should turn in for the night, she couldn't. Her mind was racing and she just… she just needed to see him, she realized with a sigh, to make sure he was really okay. The rational side of her continued to argue that she was being ridiculous, that he didn't want to be coddled, and most importantly, even if he needed someone, that it wasn't her right to assume it'd be her.

She was mentally debating the issue even as she pulled up to his apartment complex nearly half an hour later. Still fighting her own protests as she stood in front of his door and rapped her knuckles against the stiff wood. She waited, eyes already darting around for an escape.

Eric answered the door a moment later, hair still wet from what she assumed was the shower.

His lips immediately curved into a wide smile when he saw her there. "Hey, what are you doing here?" he asked, appearing genuinely surprised.

She peered apprehensively into his apartment, almost as if searching for something. Someone, maybe. "I just wanted to drop this off," she replied, holding out the bag of green tea. "It's supposed to be good for stress. You know, your nosebleed."

He took the bag from her. "Oh, thanks, Cal," he said, giving her an appreciative smile. "You didn't have to come all this way."

"No, don't worry; I was in the neighborhood," she fibbed.

He nodded, not buying it for a second but knowing better than to press the issue. "Why don't you come in?" he offered, stepping aside.

"No, no, I should get home. I know you have tomorrow off and I just wanted to make sure you got this tonight," she said, motioning toward the tea.

He frowned, sensing that there was more on her mind, so before she had a chance to escape, he stopped her. "Are you sure you have to go?" he asked, offering what he hoped was a welcoming smile. "It's not too late and I could use the company."

She sighed softly, hating that he could read her like this. "Okay," she relented.

She stepped inside and slipped out of her shoes. He closed the door, an awkward silence impregnating the room. He still couldn't figure out why she was acting like this. He knew something was wrong the moment he saw her there. It wasn't her style to show up unannounced and uninvited; propriety was of utmost importance to her, and the very fact that she'd broken her own rules spoke volumes.

"You can help yourself to anything in the kitchen," he offered.

"Thanks," she smiled, "but I'm not staying long."

He nodded. "I'll make us some tea," he tried again, holding up the package she'd given him.

"No, save that for yourself, Eric," she dismissed again. "I really am leaving soon."

He nodded again. "Okay, why don't we sit down?" he coaxed, leading her to the couch.

He placed the bag of green tea on the coffee table and sat down, patting the seat cushion beside him. She sat as well, though he could tell she was still uneasy, still uncomfortable about something. He knew better to push, however, so he gave her the time to sort through her thoughts. She'd speak when she was ready. But a minute became two, then five, and he heard her shift in her seat, undoubtedly looking for a way out.

"Why did you call me Delko all day?" he asked suddenly, and until the moment his words left his mouth, he hadn't realized just how much it had bothered him. While he knew that it wasn't really a fair question, he also acknowledged that for Calleigh, these changes in her routine were significant. They meant something.

"Tim calls you that all the time," she answered after a long pause, and he sensed that even she knew the response was inadequate and meaningless.

"Yeah, but not you," he pointed out gently. "If Speed started calling me Eric all the time, I'd get worried too."

She stared at him for a moment, like she was trying to read him. She looked down at her lap. "I don't know," she finally murmured.

He nodded. "I thought you were mad at me or something," he revealed with a short chuckle.

"No." She shook her head. "No, I was just—" She laughed quietly. "I was pretty scared for you today," she admitted, letting out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

He softened. "I'm okay, Cal."

"I know." She swallowed hard. "Is, uh, is Melinda taking care of you?"

"Calleigh—" He hesitated. "The RM guys told me I was okay, remember?" he pointed out, cautiously diverting the topic she was really approaching. "So I'm okay," he reassured. "I still have the radioactivity detector they gave me and it hasn't made a sound."

She nodded. "Better to be cautious, you know."

He echoed her nods, slowly, thoughtfully. "She's not really—" He trailed off and cast a sideways glance at Calleigh. "I can't just call her and ask her to stay with me," he clarified. "It's not like that with us."

"Then you deserve better," she told him straight out.

"Cal—"

"You do," she rehashed.

He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his face. "Why are you telling me this?" he murmured.

"Because I'm your friend, Eric." She laughed humorlessly. "Maybe I'm being presumptuous, but wouldn't you be upset if I told you my boyfriend wasn't the _type_ to be available when I needed him?"

"I don't need her right now, Calleigh," he grumbled, a hint of irritation persisting in his voice. "I'm fine."

She nodded, knowing this wasn't her battle to fight. "I should probably go." She stood up. "Drink some tea," she added, turning toward the exit.

He frowned but followed her to his door and watched as she slipped her shoes back on. She was still… different, and he hated it when she became like this, when she stopped smiling, when the little laughter she produced was stiff and bitter. He found that his mood often fluctuated with hers; he wondered if she knew that.

"Are you sure you're not mad at me?" he asked hesitantly.

She looked up. "For what?"

He shrugged. "For what happened today."

"That's the farthest thing from your fault, Eric," she said neutrally.

"That doesn't mean you can't be mad at me," he pointed out.

"I—" She smiled faintly. "I'm not mad at you."

"At Melinda?"

"No," she answered, her hand finding his doorknob, "I don't even know her." She pulled open his door and stepped into the hallway. "Good night, Eric."

He sighed. "Night, Cal."

Without another word, she turned and headed for the stairs, and as he watched her leave, he knew he couldn't let her go like this. She'd worry, and whatever inadequacies she believed his girlfriend possessed, she'd let that get to her. He knew that; he knew _her_ and how she dealt with the little things that bothered her, and if there was a way she could leave without both of them feeling empty, he'd have to take a shot at it.

"Hey," he called out after her. He waited until she turned around, and she appeared tentative, like she didn't particularly want to hear what he had to say. Too late though, he figured. "If I need someone," he said with a small smile, "I always call you."

She smiled, her first real smile all day, and though the real implications of what he'd just admitted were lost on both of them, it was something. Because tonight, she wouldn't worry about him. Tonight, she'd sleep soundly with the comforting knowledge that beyond the radiation scare, beyond the nosebleeds and the high-pressure situations, he knew he could count on her and vice versa.

And there, that was something to cherish.


	16. 116, Evidence of Things Unseen

**Episode 1.16, Evidence of Things Unseen**

_Eric tape lifted Vadim Slonin's clothes. "You work with chimps?" Eric asked the disgruntled zoo worker in Russian._

_"I work all over the zoo," Vadim replied, also in Russian._

_"With your cousin?"_

_"With that son-of-a-bitch," Vadim spat. "God rest his soul."_

_Eric pointed to the scratches on Vadim's forehead. "Where'd you get those?"_

_Vadim eyed Eric suspiciously. "Where'd you learn to speak Russian?"_

-/-/-

Eric Delko could fill a suit very, very well, Calleigh was quickly discovering. It wasn't like she was surprised; she just never saw him in much formal wear. But if she had a say in it, he would be wearing a lot more suits to work.

He didn't seem to have noticed her yet, and she contemplated going over to say hello, but before she could make up her mind, she noticed someone approaching him. Calleigh couldn't for the life of her recall the woman's name, but she was pretty sure she worked the DNA lab during swing shifts. She sipped at her champagne and watched them for a moment. The lab tech seemed… eager, and Calleigh was pretty sure Eric wanted very little to do with the short brunette.

Taking another sip of champagne, Calleigh began making her way over. Before she reached them, she saw him finally noticing her, and his eyes traveled the length of her body before he brought his focus back to the woman standing directly in front of him, but she could tell he was distracted.

The black dress, Calleigh decided with a small smile, was a good choice.

Calleigh made her way around other co-workers – some she knew by name, some she didn't – and finally slid up beside Eric.

"Hey, Cal," he greeted, and she sensed relief in his tone. "Laura was just telling me about her cat," he informed her.

Calleigh smiled. "Sounds fascinating. What's its name?"

"Mars," Laura replied, eyeing Calleigh. "He does the strangest thing with his paw…"

"Kind of like what Rolland used to do," Eric cut in.

"Rolland?" Laura asked.

"Eric's girlfriend's cat," Calleigh supplied.

The younger woman scowled, and after a few more minutes of stale conversation, she excused herself, leaving the two CSIs alone. As soon as Laura was far away enough, Eric grinned.

"I made up Rolland," he said with a hint of surprise.

"I know," she laughed.

"Then how did you—"

"Because I know _you_," she told him simply. She smiled. "Enjoying yourself?"

He rolled his eyes. "Can't people take hints anymore?"

"Oh, come on, Eric," she teased, yanking gently on his collar. "If you didn't want the attention, you wouldn't have dressed up."

"Fine," he confessed, exaggerating a sigh, "_maybe_ I was trying to impress a certain someone."

She grinned and leaned in slightly. "It's working," she whispered.

He smiled back, happy that Calleigh was in such a good mood. He had been reluctant to show up at this work party, but she was making it well worth his time. She looked incredible; hair long over her back, little black dress leaving just enough to the imagination. He opened his mouth to compliment her appearance, but she spoke first.

"I thought you said your Russian was rusty?"

He blinked. "What?"

"Our case," she clarified with a soft smile. "I've been told your language skills came in handy."

"Oh, that." He laughed. "Well, you know…"

"Say something in Russian," she urged.

He chuckled. "Like what?"

"Anything."

He thought about it for a moment, then, "_Tiy ochen krasivaya_."

Her eyes lit up. "That's so pretty," she breathed. "What's it mean?"

"You look beautiful," he translated.

She beamed, a slight flush appearing on her cheeks.

"You do," he insisted. "If I didn't know any better," he added teasingly, "I'd say you were trying to impress someone." He leaned in slightly and echoed her earlier words. "It's working."

She swatted him softly on the chest, which provoked a chuckle from him. "Now you're just teasing me," she complained.

He laughed, taking in the sight of her. She was radiating a tenderness that he suddenly didn't want to share with a roomful of people, that he wanted to savor alone. "Let's get out of here," he suggested.

"But I just got here!"

"I've been here for _ages_," he exaggerated. "Speed ditched about five minutes in."

"I'm surprised you didn't leave with him," she said with a tiny smirk, "since you hate it so much."

He chuckled. "I was waiting for you," he replied pointedly.

She smiled. "Okay, let's get out of here."

She led him toward the front door, stopping only to say hello to the host, a night-shifter named Paul with whom neither of them were very familiar. She left her champagne flute on a tray she found lying around and the two headed out the door.

It was already dark, the crescent illuminated sparsely by streetlamps. His hand found the small of her back, and she couldn't help the tiny jolt that traveled up her spine. The alcohol, she dismissed, probably loosened her up. His fingers felt tentative as he led her… somewhere. She couldn't exactly tell where, but she trusted him, and she didn't want to break the moment.

They eventually reached a small park and sat down on one of the benches. The pair must've looked rather ridiculous to passersby, she figured, all dressed up, but she didn't care.

"Who taught you Russian?" she asked.

"My dad," he replied. He took a small pause, glanced at her, and added, "My sisters never had to learn it. I always wondered why they could go out and play, while I had to learn the language from him." He smiled nostalgically. "But I'm glad that he did, you know?"

"It's a beautiful language," she commented.

"Yeah," he agreed. He shifted slightly against the bench. "My dad always loved my sisters as much as he loved me, but he would tell me that as his only son, I had to learn the inner workings of his firm and follow in his footsteps." He took a deep breath and chuckled. "I scraped out a chemistry degree to appease him, but—" He trailed off and stared into the darkness thoughtfully. "I could never imagine sitting in an office, telling people what to do; that's not me."

"How'd he take it when you told him?" she asked, wondering if she was delving too deep.

Eric shrugged. "For the first two or three days, there was a lot of yelling. I was working on moving out, and I just—" He shrugged again. "I don't know." He frowned. "After that, there was silence. He ignored me, mostly; pretended I wasn't there. My mom tried to console him, but—" He shook his head. "I think that was worse than the yelling," he finished quietly.

Calleigh felt a silent rage toward this man who had allowed customs to overrule his son's happiness. "You know he had no right to dictate your life."

Eric nodded. "He learned to forgive me though. It's just his pride. For a while after I got a job with underwater recovery, he would lie to his friends about what I was doing." He laughed to hide the bitter taste that still brought. "That hurt me more than anything," he mumbled.

Her hand sought out his arm. "I'm sorry."

"No, hey," he breathed. "Just something I had to learn, you know?"

"It made you stronger," she said.

He nodded. "I think so. I wanted—" He trailed off, then turned and flashed her a small smile. "I wanted to prove that I could be successful doing something I loved."

"You're happy?" she asked, though she was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"I am," he replied, smiling.

"_Tiy ochen krasivaya_," she murmured.

He laughed. "_Krasiviy_," he corrected. "_Krasivaya_ is for when you're addressing a woman."

She chuckled. "I'll remember that."

He stared out into the emptiness and marveled at the way she listened like nothing else in the world mattered, how she could cheer him up so quickly and effectively, and how, through everything, she was willing to sit with him on a park bench in a beautiful dress, regardless how silly they looked to bystanders.


	17. 117, Simple Man

**Episode 1.17, Simple Man**

_Horatio picked up a stone off the ground and stared out at the Tamiami Canal. "Eric," he began, "you used to play right field for the 'canes, right?" He turned to the younger CSI. "See how far you can throw that," Horatio added, tossing the stone in his hands toward Eric._

_Eric caught the stone and threw it out into the canal. It plunked into the depths of the water._

_"Nice throw," Horatio said._

-/-/-

"Hey," Eric greeted Calleigh when she opened her door. "Ready to go?"

She nodded. "Yeah, just let me get my—"

She was cut off by Eric's phone, which began ringing incessantly. He smiled apologetically and answered. Calleigh let him in to her apartment, then moved away to give him some privacy. She went to check her bag, making sure everything she'd need was there. Diving together had become a routine for them, and really, she wouldn't have it any other way. She learned to love the water in a way only Eric could've taught her, and she wondered how he found the time for her nearly every weekend. She figured that he'd always set aside this time to dive before, but she couldn't help but think his girlfriend – whoever it was at the time – would have a problem with his weekly escapades if she knew who his company was. Then again, Calleigh had met a few of them, and they didn't seem too concerned about exclusivity anyway. She felt a twinge of something bitter in her chest, but she knew it wasn't any of her business who he chose to date.

"Calleigh?" Eric suddenly asked, breaking her from her thoughts.

She turned to him. He had his hand clamped over his phone and appeared hesitant. "I know we're supposed to go diving, but an old college buddy of mine is asking for a favor." He took a moment to study her. "He coaches his son's Little League baseball team," Eric explained, "but he thinks he's coming down with the flu. They're supposed to hold a practice today, and he doesn't want to let down the kids…"

"Absolutely go," Calleigh said.

"You sure?" He hesitated again. "I'm sorry about this."

She shook her head and approached him, feeling slightly disappointed but knowing that these children came first. "No, it's fine," she said with a small smile. "I've been taking up nearly every single one of your Saturday mornings."

He grinned. "You make it sound like I mind," he replied before bringing his phone back to his ear.

"Hey, Peter," he said, turning away, and Calleigh couldn't help but listen to the rest of his conversation. "Yeah, I can step in, but you owe me big time, man. I was supposed to take my—"

Whatever was said next caused him to glance awkwardly at Calleigh, a rather embarrassed look sketched across his face. She had to turn away, suddenly hyperaware of her surroundings and the miniscule but distinct possibility that they were actually discussing her, whether or not Eric's friend knew who she was.

"When will you learn to shut up, huh?" Eric continued into the phone, his voice low, and Calleigh had to try very hard not to eavesdrop further.

Nothing significant, however, was further said on his part, and soon enough, he hung up and reached out a hand to touch her arm.

"Next week, I promise," he said, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I'm sorry."

"Eric," she admonished, "it's okay."

He nodded. "I'd better get going then," he said reluctantly, motioning toward her door.

"Can I tag along?" she asked before she could stop herself. She couldn't pinpoint exactly why the question had slipped from her lips, though she'd realize later that she simply did not want to spend the day alone when she'd gotten so used to spending it with him.

"Really?" he asked, surprised. "I mean, sure, I could definitely use the help."

That was how, nearly an hour later, Eric and Calleigh found themselves at a ball park with Peter's six-year-old son, Trevor, waiting for a dozen more little boys to show up. They'd dropped by Peter's house to pick up Trevor, as well as some baseball equipment, and the three had arrived at the park shortly thereafter. They'd set up the bases and had dumped the tiny gloves, bats and helmets near home base, but while Trevor had decided to take his time meticulously lining up the bats along the fence behind the catcher's box, Eric and Calleigh had found a comfortable spot in the bleachers to relax.

"How much do you know about baseball?" Eric asked, keeping his eyes trained on the little boy.

"Just basic rules," she replied, also watching Trevor work. "My brothers played a little when they were young, but I never really got into it."

He nodded. "I loved it. Played for U of M Hurricanes my junior year."

She turned to him, surprised. "Really?" She smiled. "That's rather impressive."

He chuckled. "Yeah, right field. I decided to concentrate on swimming the year after, so I only played that one season, but it was fun. It's where I met Peter; he played relief pitcher that year."

She tried to imagine him in his college days. She figured he wasn't much different then; maybe a little more hot-headed, a little less sensitivity and understanding for the victims he now worked with every day. She remembered when he'd first joined the lab; full of the misconceived heroics that she saw in many newbies who'd later be disappointed by the grim realities of their job. He'd adapted quickly though, been different, and Speed had known it before she'd gotten a chance to. But as she slowly began to understand the way Eric operated, she'd forged an unbreakable bond with him.

She snapped out of her thoughts when she heard the bleachers rattling. Trevor had finished arranging the bats and was climbing up onto the row of seats in front of them, baseball mitt already covering his left hand.

"Hey, little guy," Eric greeted. "What's up?"

"Daddy's sick," Trevor said morosely.

"I know, buddy," Eric replied, reaching out to ruffle the little boy's sandy hair. "That's why Calleigh and I are gonna coach you guys today."

"Can I pitch?" Trevor asked, his eyes lighting up. "Daddy never lets me pitch."

Eric shook his head. "You know you guys are supposed to play tee ball."

"I _know_," Trevor whined, "but I wanna be a great pitcher like Daddy."

"Tell you what," Eric said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Since we're here so early, you can pitch for me until the next person gets here, okay?"

Trevor exposed a gap-toothed grin and ran toward the pitcher's mound. Eric turned to Calleigh.

"Batting practice?" he asked, not fully expecting her to do anything more than spectate.

"Of course," she replied without hesitation. By the look on his face, she knew she'd surprised him there. She grinned. "You can play catcher," she added playfully, "not that you'll have anything to catch."

He chuckled. "Is that right?" he challenged, leading her toward the batter's box.

While an impatient Trevor waited at the mound, Eric picked up and fitted himself with an adult-sized glove. Calleigh, however, hesitated.

"Okay, these are about a foot and a half long," she said, eyeing the bats that were lined up against the fence.

"Take your pick," he laughed. He walked over, and in a low voice, he teasingly added, "I could always set up the tee, if a six-year-old's pitches scare you."

She shot him a look and searched out the longest bat, and though it was still fairly tiny, she figured the little boy's eagerness was worth whatever other jabs Eric could come up with.

Positioning herself over home plate, she readied for Trevor's pitch. Eric was standing a foot outside the catcher's box, probably worried that Calleigh would take his head off with a miscalculated swing. Trevor threw the ball toward her, and it was a lot faster than she'd expected from such a small body and thin arms, but she reacted in time to whack it with the disproportionate bat. The ball flew over Trevor's extended hand, and while he chased after it, Eric approached her.

"You have to follow through," he explained, positioning himself behind her. Before she could protest or even respond, his arms were wrapped loosely but securely around her, his hands tightly gripping hers on the handle of the ridiculously tiny bat. He nudged the back of her leg. "Bend your knees," he murmured, his voice changing texture and breezing by her ear. She tried to ignore the inexplicable prickles that peppered her body, but she found it difficult when his body was cocooning hers, and she briefly wondered if he was as affected as she was.

She got her answer when she felt his heartbeat pounding against her back, and his hand was starting to sweat, though that could've just as easily been hers.

"Okay, Trev," Eric managed to call out, "let's see what you've got."

Trevor wound up and tossed the ball toward the pair. Both distracted by the other's proximity, the bat swung at an awkward angle, missing the baseball by a fraction of an inch. The ball clanged against the metal chain fence behind them.

"Strike one!" Trevor yelled gleefully, jumping up and down.

Calleigh bit her lip as Eric sheepishly released her. She couldn't help but miss his warmth immediately. Chastising herself for the thought, she turned to him.

"More follow through?" she asked, corners of her lips upturning. "So let me get this straight, the Hurricanes wanted you because…"

He chuckled and scratched the back of his head. "I perform better," he explained slowly, gesticulating in the air, "when there are fewer distractions."

She quirked an eyebrow. "I'm a distraction?" she asked innocently.

Eric opened his mouth to reply, but before he had the chance, Trevor interrupted them from the pitcher's mound, eager to squeeze out every last minute of playtime before the other kids arrived and he had to relinquish his position to the tee.

She never got to hear what he had to say, but she had a pretty good idea.


	18. 118, Dispo Day

**Episode 1.18, Dispo Day**

_"Did you tell me your name was Calleigh Duquesne?" the polygraph tester asked._

_"Yes, I did," Calleigh replied perkily, "but my nickname is Lamb Chop." She fidgeted in her seat. "But only my dad calls me that now," she rambled. "Oh, I know, I'm sorry. Okay, yes or no only. Fire away."_

_The polygraph tester gave her monitor a strange look; Calleigh's graph was all over the place. "Did you consume any alcohol or drugs in an attempt to influence this exam?"_

_"No," Calleigh replied, punctuating her answer with a short nod._

_"Did you process drug evidence for dispo day?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Was that drug cocaine?"_

_"Yes," Calleigh replied, grinning proudly._

-/-/-

Calleigh was… twitching. Not violently; enough to make Eric contemplate bringing her to the hospital just in case, but he'd been told to expect this as her high died down and a nasty thing called withdrawal began to kick in. Alexx had explained to him that acute symptoms were usually mild, but had told him to be on the lookout for odd behavior anyway. And yeah, the twitching definitely constituted odd behavior. Cautiously, he walked over to her couch, where she was seated, and sat down next to her. She flinched.

She looked kind of helpless, and he knew she probably felt the same way. It hurt him to know how much that must've been tearing her up inside, her sudden inability to control her own emotions.

"Should I take you to the hospital?" he asked gently, almost afraid to touch her.

She shook her head. "I'll be fine."

He waited a moment, then, "I'm taking your couch tonight, okay?"

She shook her head again. "Go home," she mumbled coldly.

He shrugged it off. "I'm going to get you some—"

"I don't need to be babysat," she shot out indignantly, her words ringing sharply in the air. Her own voice seemed to surprise her for a moment, but she quickly steeled herself again. Her eyes were dark, dangerous, _different_.

He frowned. He'd known when he offered to take her home that there would be erratic movements, bouts of explosive brilliance on her part, words exchanged that he knew she would never speak if she hadn't been under the influence of cocaine, and he hadn't been disappointed. For about an hour, there had been nothing but rapid-fire rambling, Southern drawl stronger than ever, and he had to admit, it was rather endearing. But soon thereafter, the perkiness and the excitement began to die off, leading way to this. Discomfort, anxiety, uncharacteristic coldness, and he hadn't been prepared for any of it. He knew that it would fade and she'd be back to normal in no time, if not enriched by the experience, but he couldn't help but be scared for her in her current state.

He wondered how much she had really inhaled. He'd seen coke withdrawals from first-timers, and they never seemed to be like this, but maybe everything was magnified now that it was Calleigh's health in question. Still, the cocaine had been fairly pure, and while Alexx had reassured him that she'd be okay in the morning, Eric couldn't help but worry that his first-aid skills wouldn't be sufficient if she really needed medical attention.

"I'm not going to the hospital," she mumbled stubbornly, almost as if reading his thoughts.

"Okay," he nodded. "Let's get some food into your system."

She shook her head. "Not hungry."

He left her for a moment and dug around her closet for a blanket. He brought it back to her and draped it lightly over her body. There was little reaction on her part. He sat down again, closer this time, hips touching, and still, she did nothing to impede his actions. She was twitching less now, and he wasn't quite sure if her motionlessness was a good thing, but he figured it was an opportune time to speak.

"This is gonna pass," he murmured softly, using his palm to smooth out the blanket in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

Finally, a small nod of something resembling appreciation. "I know. The muscle spasms are better; you should go home."

"I meant the unwelcome feelings," he broached carefully.

Her eyes shot up, pupils still dilated but flashing a warning that he knew all too well. "I don't—"

"I know, Calleigh," he said hesitantly, hoping to God he wasn't pushing it, because even in her semi-confused state, he was pretty sure she could make out what he was insinuating.

The truth was, he didn't know, couldn't be sure of what she was truly experiencing. He'd never experimented with cocaine, or really any other recreational drug for that matter, though it would've made little difference, since everyone's body reacted differently to the aftereffects. Either way, he was pretty sure she had been fairly heavily dosed – with the good stuff, no less – so he probably wasn't too far off the mark. She appeared to be capable of staying up for weeks, but at the same time, she looked drained, depleted, excruciatingly uncomfortable, and if all those science courses he'd taken had taught him anything, her brain's protests were likely causing her to harbor negativity and misaligned emotions that were entirely out of her power.

It was, however, rather difficult to focus on the chemistry of dopamine and metabolic rates when it was _Calleigh_ who was affected by this, and it destroyed him to know that he could do nothing to help her.

"I don't think you do," she replied darkly, eyes piercing his in an almost otherworldly way. It terrified him.

"Tell me how you feel," he pressed, fingers finding her cheekbone and brushing aside a stray strand of hair.

She let out a jittery breath. "Just… sick," she acquiesced reluctantly. "Achy and anxious. Can't—can't really explain it."

He nodded sympathetically and gently pulled her toward him, and he got the feeling he needed the contact more than she did. "It'll be better in the morning," he reassured, "I promise."

She relented into his embrace and surprised him by tucking her head into the curve of his neck. "I just feel unbearably alone," she finally admitted, tensing up as she did. "I can't stop it."

That nearly killed him, and he knew that under normal circumstances, she would never have allowed those words to slip past her lips, but this was far from normal, far from anything either of them had ever experienced.

"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered into her hair, rubbing small circles onto her back, hoping beyond hoping that it had an effect, however miniscule. He tucked the blanket tightly around her and felt light tremors still resonating throughout her body.

He knew it'd be an impossibly long night devoid of sleep, but rest was the last thing on his mind. Calleigh needed him, and that… that spoke volumes, but tonight, he was deaf to everything but the sleepless woman in his arms. Everything else seemed to fade to the background, and if he could take away just a fraction of the symptoms plaguing her, make her feel just a tiny bit less alone, he'd do it in half a heartbeat.

He knew that tomorrow, she'd dismiss this as an act of weakness, would silently warn him never to mention it again, and he wouldn't. He could live with that.

Because tonight, it whittled down to one simple notion. And it was unconditional.


	19. 119, Double Cap

**Episode 1.19, Double Cap**

_"Hey, Claudia," Calleigh greeted as she approached reception. "Can I get my message, please?" She turned and noticed the vase of yellow tulips on the counter. "Oh, tulips! Those are beautiful. I love tulips."_

_"I know," came a voice she recognized as her father's._

_She turned and saw her father standing nearby. "Hey, Dad!"_

_"Hi, sweetie," her father said, pulling her into a hug._

_"Those aren't necessary," she said, meaning the flowers._

_"Yes, they are," her father replied. "Thanks for getting me home."_

-/-/-

Eric entered the ballistics lab, intent on getting the latest IBIS results from Calleigh, but he stopped short when he noticed the tulips on her table.

"Secret admirer?" he asked, approaching her.

She turned around and smiled when she saw him motioning toward the flowers. "Jealous?"

"Depends if I find him a threat," he shot back playfully.

Her smile widened. "I'm surprised the infamous Eric Delko finds any man a threat."

He laughed. "First time for everything," he pointed out. "How's my bullet?"

"Still running through IBIS," she replied, "and I'm trying to make a manual match, but it's proving difficult."

He nodded. "So," he broached again, eyes flickering to the flowers, "_should_ I be threatened?"

She turned back to the gun she had been assembling, a small smirk playing on her lips. "Well, I guess you could start by listing who you find a threat."

He narrowed his eyes. "Does that mean I know him?" he asked suspiciously. When she didn't reply, he took a shot in the dark. "Bernstein?"

She swung around, intrigued. "You're threatened by Detective Bernstein?"

He scoffed. "No way."

"Well," she continued, gaze unwavering, "wasn't him, in any case."

"Belmontes?" he tried again, scratching his head. "It better not be Belmontes."

"Sam?" She paused thoughtfully. "I wouldn't mind getting flowers from him."

Eric rolled his eyes. "He can't even speak English."

Calleigh grinned. "I suppose that means we'd have to occupy our time in other fashions," she said suggestively.

"I can't believe you just said that," Eric groaned, and as much as he tried to convince himself that it was playful banter, he couldn't stop himself from feeling the bitter distaste at the back of his throat.

"Come on, Eric," she said, not seeming to notice his sudden change in demeanor, "as if you don't find any of the lab techs attractive."

"Oh yeah," he said sarcastically, frowning, "Jenson from A/V is a total hottie."

"You know," she teased, eyes sparkling, "I think Tyler may just swing that way."

He decided to ignore her comment and instead made a move toward the vase of flowers, searching for a card, a name, anything to stop this ridiculous game. As he'd expected, Calleigh didn't like his probing very much and slipped herself between him and the flowers, bodies nearly touching. She nudged the vase out of his reach and grinned victoriously, though he could see little reason for celebration.

He chuckled. "Why do we keep doing this to each other?" he asked, meaning it to sound playful, but his words sliced acrimoniously through the air, revealing a lot more than it should have.

Calleigh's smile waned as the implications set in. "Eric—"

It wasn't the time or the place, and he knew that, but he'd put it out there, albeit accidentally, and he knew by the look on her face that he'd caught her by surprise. Caught himself by surprise, too, but still, it was a valid question. He'd never seen her do it with Speed, the teasing jealousy thing that could be considered flirting if squinting was involved. Never anyone else; only him, though it was sometimes his fault for acting coy around her.

That was precisely the problem though, because it was a cycle: this game of chicken. And inevitably, one of them would get hurt or offended, even if neither would admit to it. He found it infuriating, because the jealousy had become a part of them now, and he knew that it caused more harm than good. More importantly, there was a reason there; one both chose to ignore. Neither was envious by nature, so if jealousy was suddenly rearing its ugly head, that meant… well, that meant something.

He took a deep breath, feeling the bottled tension threaten to flatten the lab. "Calleigh—"

"The flowers are from my dad," she interrupted, full-blown avoidance in the works, and he knew better than to pursue it.

"That's nice of him," he said uniformly.

She moved back to the disassembled gun, and he watched her fiddle with it for a moment, though he could tell that her attention was elsewhere. He waited, suddenly feeling unwelcome.

Slowly, she turned to face him and sighed, eyes anywhere but on him. "I don't know what you want from me," she said softly.

He chuckled mirthlessly, leaning back against the table for support. "Me neither," he admitted.

She nodded. "I don't think—" She hesitated. "I don't think it would work," she stated experimentally, words carefully strung together. "We have a good thing going, Eric," she added as gently as possible.

It still stung, even though he was altogether confused about his own intentions. "I know," he conceded. "Look, I don't know where all this came from…"

Mercifully, the computer beeped then, and they both turned their attention toward it, grateful for the distraction.

"No match on IBIS," Calleigh said, reading off the results on the monitor.

Eric nodded. "Worth a shot. Thanks, Calleigh." He headed for the door, wondering how this encounter would change things. He stopped in his tracks and turned around. "We can forget this happened?" he asked hopefully, knowing they stood on firmer ground than that.

"Forget what happened?" she replied with a wink, all smiles and playfulness again, and yeah, he liked this a lot better.

He grinned. "Nothing."

As he left the ballistics lab, he realized that she had a point; they had a good thing going, and he wasn't about to be the one to ruin that, especially when he didn't even know exactly what he wanted or how he would go about getting it, and Calleigh hadn't seemed particularly receptive to his suggestion. He figured he'd spend a day or two trying to figure things out, but he knew already that it would be too complex to pin as black and white, so this was probably for the best.

What he didn't know was this: he'd managed to shake something loose in her; she was just a lot better at hiding it.


	20. 120, Grave Young Men

**Episode 1.20, Grave Young Men**

_Alison Roufow, the woman who'd called in the crime, wandered from the hotel bathroom to the bedroom. Ignoring Alexx and the dead body on the bed, she sashayed over to Speed._

_"Do you have any questions for me?" she asked, her eyes raking over Speed's body._

_"Yeah," he replied flatly. "Why do women do that to their nails?"_

_"What?" she asked, wiggling her fingers. "Put little charms on them? It's easy. To attract men," she explained, her hand reaching out to stroke his shoulder._

-/-/-

Eric leaned against the counter in the break room, reading the newspaper he'd found lying around. Calleigh entered and acknowledged him with a smile.

"Did Speed tell you about his case?" she asked, reaching for the coffee pot.

"The woman who keeps trying to work her charm on him?" he asked with a chuckle. "Yeah, I think he enjoys the attention."

"Are you serious?" she replied, dislike evident. She poured herself a cup of coffee. "I think he _hates_ it."

"He pretends he hates it," Eric remarked, raising his eyebrow, "but have you _seen_ her?"

She took a sip of coffee. "I suppose if you like that," she dismissed.

He shrugged. "I didn't say she was girlfriend material," he said without much thought.

"That's… respectful," Calleigh noted under her breath.

He frowned and looked up from his paper. "Just two weeks ago you were saying the same thing about Belmontes," he pointed out, a trace of bitterness still remaining in his tone.

She shot him a disapproving look and approached him, mug in hand. "That was different."

He dropped the newspaper, her words stirring up a hint of irritation. "How was that different?"

She swallowed another sip of coffee. "Ms. Roufow is a suspect in a murder case," she replied, hinting obviousness.

"And Belmontes is a colleague," he shot back. "I thought there was a rule against inter-departmental fraternization."

She tilted her head. "Then your proposal certainly fit within those limitations."

He scoffed. "I asked you a _question_," he emphasized, recalling their conversation from two weeks prior.

She stared at him for a long moment. "There was an implication."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "An implication?" he asked with mock surprise. "Fill me in."

"Eric, don't do that," she said, the words grinding through her teeth. "Don't say something like that and then skirt around it."

"I didn't—" He took a deep breath. "I thought we agreed to forget about it," he mumbled.

"You were the one who brought it up!" she accused, taking a quick peek at the door of the break room.

"Yeah," he replied, temper flaring, "because you were being a hypocrite."

Her jaw clenched. "I wouldn't fall into bed with Sam," she said indignantly, her meaning clear.

"And what," he scoffed in disbelief, throwing his arms into the air, "you think I'd go and do that with Speed's suspect?"

"Well, I don't know, Eric," she stated flatly. "_I_ don't have a string of one-night-stands supporting that theory."

He furrowed his eyebrows, more put off than anything by the idea that this was the way Calleigh envisioned him. Sure, he didn't have the greatest track record when it came to long-lasting relationships, but it bothered him that she'd think so lightly of his… choices. Frankly, he thought to himself, it wasn't any of her business. Then again, he wondered if it became her business the moment he hinted at whatever was going on.

"Is that what this is all about?" he demanded. "Your disapproval of who I date?"

"Date?" she asked, tone even but cautioning nothing but sheer anger. "Is that what they call it these days?"

He chuckled, pushing himself off the counter. "Calleigh, what's your problem?"

She swallowed hard. "I need to get back to work," she said, placing her mug down on the counter.

She turned to leave, but despite the fact that he knew she'd have an adverse reaction to what he was about to do, he caught her wrist and pulled her back toward him. He hadn't been sure what he'd do past that point, but his instincts took over and he wrapped his arms loosely around her. Her body tensed, but she didn't fight him off, and after a moment of hesitation, she sighed and rested her forehead against his chest, a move that very nearly caused him to forget how to breathe.

"I hate fighting with you," he murmured, his heart pounding.

"Me too," came the muffled reply.

He felt her hands grip his hips, and he tightened his arms around her. He lowered his head, cautiously running his lips lightly over her hair. She felt so tiny in his arms, so uncharacteristically vulnerable, and it suddenly dawned on him that maybe he wasn't the only one feeling the way he did.

"We've been doing a lot of that lately," he whispered, her breath against his shirt driving him crazy.

Finally, she lifted her head and wiggled out of his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the counter behind him. "Yeah," she agreed with a slow nod, "we have."

He sighed, missing her warmth immediately. "I miss us," he said, eyes downcast. "We were—" He chuckled. "I don't know; we laughed, we had fun. Remember?"

She nodded. "I miss that, too," she admitted quietly.

He looked up, searching for any indication that this was okay. That _they_ were okay. "What happened to us?" he asked to nobody in particular.

"I don't know," she breathed. She looked up and caught his eye. "We'll find it again," she reassured him with an encouraging smile.

He smiled faintly. "I hope so."

"We will," she reinforced, sounding every bit as convinced as he'd ever heard her. Convinced and… determined, and he believed her without reservation.

He watched her leave the break room, and he just knew that they'd figure this out. He got the feeling that they just needed to get back into the groove of things, the way they were before… just, before. He couldn't push her beyond her limits, and even though he sometimes misread her cues or seemed to be unsure where he stood, he'd go with it.

Time. They just needed more time.


	21. 121, Spring Break

**Episode 1.21, Spring Break**

_Eric peered at the victim on the floor of the pool. "He hasn't been down there long," he remarked. "It usually takes a while for the body to float. Body gases have to have time to build up."_

_"Well," Calleigh said, "it looks like somebody's getting wet."_

_"Music to my ears," he replied, pulling off his shirt to reveal the diving suit he had underneath._

_The young women watching the scene whistled and cheered as Eric tossed his shirt aside and began removing his shoes._

-/-/-

Things were beginning to fall back into place, back to the way it used to be, and Calleigh had to admit, she'd missed it immensely. It hadn't even been so much the fighting that had gotten to her, but rather how awkward things had become after their little discussion in the ballistics lab. It wasn't like her, she knew, to hold on to words like that, to hold grudges, especially when she had no right to. She'd wondered just why his remarks had struck such a chord with her and why it had suddenly become easy to argue about the most insignificant things. Was she purposely trying to push him away? And more importantly, if she was, what did that mean?

It was confusing, to say the least, and it seemed the more time she spent pondering it, the less she could figure out. Rules and careful calculations quite simply did not apply when it came to Eric, and she couldn't infer why that was, even if it seemed to stare her straight in the face.

At least they still had this; a friendship neither would trade away for the world. Except maybe—

That was where she stopped herself, compartmentalized, because she didn't know if she was ready for any kind of realization, especially so soon after their friendship had been rekindled. She valued it, and she valued how they were able to tease and joke without the accompanying jealousy again. Or at least without the full-blown effects. She wondered if he still held a hint as well, or if he'd moved on as quickly as he'd moved on from any other of his little… whatever the hell they were.

She'd always been strong verbally, coherence guaranteed, and it was telling that she couldn't pin a name to this elephant.

She figured she shouldn't worry about it too much, though. Come what may, right? Besides, she needed to relax. She didn't remember the last time she was out for drinks with the guys. She sipped at her club soda – designated driver, though she usually volunteered – and watched Eric and Speed bicker over something she couldn't quite make out in her state of inattention.

Eric stood up and left the table to get another drink, leaving Calleigh and Speed – already on his third scotch – to converse.

"What's wrong with you guys?" Speed grumbled immediately, alcohol settling in.

"Who?" Calleigh asked needlessly.

"Caesar and Cleopatra," he replied sarcastically, downing some more scotch. "No, you and Delko, though sometimes I wonder which of those relationships is more complicated."

She fiddled with her drink for a moment, debating whether it was a good idea to enter this conversation. "Has he been saying anything?" she asked, curiosity getting the best of her.

"Delko? Nah, you think I need to be told?" He paused for emphasis. "He did say that he thinks you think he's slept with half of Miami."

She felt her cheeks flush, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of irritation. "That's not what I said," she stated defensively.

"Well, yeah, that's not what he said either," Speed pointed out with a hint of obviousness, "but that was the gist of it."

"I didn't… mean it like that," she said quietly, trying to process this new information.

Speed shrugged and exhaled. "He was pretty bothered by it."

She scratched absentmindedly at the condensation that had formed on her glass. "Really?"

"Yeah," he nodded, "past few weeks, we'd go clubbing and he'd barely show any interest."

"That's—" She swallowed, feeling the tiniest hint of guilt crawling into her chest. "He shouldn't hold himself back because I said something in the heat of an argument."

"He values your opinion, Calleigh." Speed took another sip of scotch. "Doesn't give a shit what other people think, but the way you perceive him matters to him."

"I—" She frowned and took a look toward the bar, where Eric was chatting with the bartender. "Should I talk to him?" she asked tentatively.

"That depends," he replied, sounding a lot wiser than the alcohol would suggest. "Do you want things to change?"

Calleigh hesitated. "Change how?"

Speed let out a dry chuckle. "You know," he remarked, almost in disbelief, "Delko does the same thing when I try to talk to him about it."

Calleigh took a deep breath. "I just want him to be happy," she murmured.

Speed shrugged. "Mutual, princess. I think he's doing this for you."

"He hasn't changed when he's around me, though," she reasoned, confusion rising. "We were at a crime scene this morning, and he seemed to be soaking up the attention from all the girls."

"Overcompensating?" Speed suggested. "I don't know. He's never been the flashy type. Probably figured you'd eventually notice."

She sipped at her soda water and took another glance toward the bar. "He went cold turkey? Just like that?"

"Well, it wasn't an _addiction_," Speed said pointedly, sounding annoyed. "And if he's getting busy with the left hand, I don't want to know about it."

Eric reappeared then, drink in hand. He sat down next to Calleigh. "What are you guys chatting about?"

Speed gulped down the rest of his drink and cleared his throat. "I have a date with some late-night infomercials," he said, standing up. "Later, Calleigh. Delko."

"Take a cab," Calleigh implored as he turned to leave.

"Instead of what, hijacking a car?" he asked over his shoulder. "I came with you guys, remember?" He made a short saluting motion and disappeared behind a crowd of people.

"What's up with him?" Eric asked, pointing his chin toward where Speed had gone.

"Early shift tomorrow morning," she explained.

Eric nodded. "So what were you guys discussing?"

"Just—" She offered a small smile. "You know I didn't mean what I said about your relationships," she approached.

He exhaled deeply. "I'm gonna kill Speed," he muttered under his breath.

She shook her head. "No, listen to me," she said, her hand finding his forearm and squeezing gently. "I'm sorry; I didn't know it would affect you like it did."

He shrugged, bringing his tumbler to his lips. "You had a point."

"No, I had no right," she argued. "It wasn't any of my business."

He took a deep breath. "I don't know what Speed told you," he said, sounding weary, "but I really don't want to have this conversation."

"Okay," she acquiesced, giving his arm another squeeze. "I just prefer the Eric I saw today at our crime scene, basking in the limelight of all those inebriated college girls," she said with a hint of amusement.

He chuckled, running his fingertip around the rim of his tumbler. "They just liked my wetsuit," he resigned, feigning hurt.

"They weren't the only ones," she shot back playfully.

He grinned, ego thoroughly stroked. "But you get to see it nearly every week," he pointed out.

She laughed. "I'm spoiled, I know," she admitted, suddenly reminded of how lucky she was to have him in her life. She moved her hand from his arm up to his jaw, and for no reason at all, ran her fingertip lightly over his stubble.

She picked up her glass and held it out to him. He did the same, and the two glasses clinked softly.


	22. 122, Tinder Box

**Episode 1.22, Tinder Box**

_Eric stood in the autopsy room, looking down at Connie's lifeless body._

_"It's weird, Alexx," he managed to say. "I barely even knew her, you know? But I feel like I had to pay my respects."_

_Alexx turned to him. "Don't apologize to anyone, honey," she replied, "especially me."_

_"What was the cause of death?" he asked._

_Alexx hesitated. "You sure you…?"_

_Eric nodded and listened as the medical examiner explained the young woman's injuries. Fractures and burns, and Eric's heart went out for her. She'd fought hard, but it'd been her last._

_Eric sighed. "I never even got her last name," he revealed._

_"She was one of the few whose looks were preserved enough to match face to her ID," Alexx replied, reaching for her clipboard. "Wilkes," she told him. "Connie Wilkes."_

_Eric looked from Alexx to Connie, observing a moment of speechlessness. Finally, he quietly said, "Thanks, Alexx."_

-/-/-

He didn't have to ask; she knew. Her company was more than simply welcomed; it was needed, _wanted_, and she couldn't deny him the stay. Wouldn't have dreamed of leaving him to ponder the previous night's events alone. Speed had been at the nightclub, too, but he dealt better with things on his own, preferred the solitude. Besides, she didn't have that level of comfort with Speed. She couldn't… show up at his apartment at ten in the evening and scrape together some vegetables for a soup her mother used to make. But with Eric, she could, and after she offered him the soup and he thanked her and ate it all up, after the dishes were washed and stowed away, she laid a hand on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

"Good," he replied. He looked down and smiled faintly. "Better."

She nodded. "I heard about Connie," she broached, swallowing hard. "I'm sorry."

"I—" He sighed. "Thanks, I appreciate that." He looked around his kitchen and took a deep breath. "I didn't know her that long, but I wasn't after a quick, you know."

"I know," she told him, patting his arm. She smiled softly. "Come on," she added, motioning toward the door, "let's take a walk."

"It's midnight," he replied hesitantly, glancing at the digits on his microwave.

She tilted her head to the side, a small smile on her lips. "Are you going to bed?"

Point taken.

He grabbed a jacket on the way out and tossed it over his shoulders. She led the way down the stairs and out of his building, the silence allowing both to think, though neither welcomed the thoughts they experienced. He was still uneasy about the fire in the nightclub the day before, and she was consumed by thoughts of him, flames flickering dangerously around him, licking away flesh, though not his. It'd scared her, and she was again harshly reminded how easily the threads of life could be cut short.

She stopped by her car and opened up the trunk, removing a large blanket from within. Without another word, she led him toward a path he was very familiar with. It was why he'd chosen to live here; the proximity to the beach, the ocean. As they reached the beach and their feet sank into sand, Calleigh found a rather secluded location where they'd once spent a lazy afternoon together and laid down the blanket on top of the sand.

She motioned for him to lie down, and he complied. It was warm and rather humid, so he removed his jacket and tossed it aside. They both felt the hint of awkwardness that settled in as she took her place beside him, but it faded quickly, lending way to the comfort that both had grown to take for granted.

She stared up at the dark sky. "I thought you could use some fresh air," she commented. "Nothing better than the coastal breeze."

He turned to look at her. "It's a beautiful night."

"Yeah," she smiled.

He stared at the moon for a minute, the glow of the crescent lulling him toward peace, toward forgetting the events of the previous night; the heat burning his eyes, the smoke filling his lungs, the sound of the people screaming above the roar of the fire…

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing those memories away as they drew near.

"Thank you," he murmured, his hand fumbling for hers in the dark.

She felt his hand tentatively clasp around hers, and she reciprocated. "I didn't do anything," she protested, grip tightening around his fingers.

"You're here," he said simply, opening his eyes for a brief moment to smile at her.

She smiled back and shifted closer, shoulder to shoulder. "I want to be."

Without really thinking about what he was doing, he released her hand and slipped his arm gently under her neck, pulling her closer. She resisted out of impulse but quickly turned her body toward him, head resting comfortably on his bicep. She slung her arm lazily across his torso, reaching for his free hand. He threaded his fingers between hers and held her hand there, cozy and flush against his abdomen.

The warmth she emanated was marvelous, and as he held her there, thumb occasionally stroking her shoulder, he felt a part of the anxiety melt away.

"When I was younger," he heard himself say, "my mom would always yell at me for bringing sand into the house."

She grinned, shifting against his arm to look up at him. "I bet you were a cute kid."

He chuckled. "How do you figure?"

She said nothing, the silence answering his question and more.

"Are you injured?" she asked suddenly, the hand on his abdomen pressing down on him. "Burns?"

"Just a few wimpy bruises," he reassured.

She nodded. "You were a hero today," she whispered, awe and amazement abundant in her voice.

He turned his head toward her, then back up at the sky. "I couldn't save her," he mumbled with resignation.

"There was nothing you could've done for her," she comforted, her hand gripping his tightly.

He seemed to accept this, or at least decided to act as such to protect her from the guilt that was consuming him. She sensed this, knew what went on underneath the exterior he sometimes wore for her, but she knew her words meant very little, and that in time, he'd forgive himself for not having saved Connie or any of the other nearly twenty people who'd perished in the fire.

Though he had trouble getting any rest, soon, calmed by the warmth of his body and the evenness of his breathing, Calleigh began to drift off. He watched as she lightly nuzzled her face against his chest – probably without realizing it, he figured – and smiled contently. Trying not to wake her, he reached over for his jacket and draped it carefully over her body. She stirred.

She shifted against him, but mid-movement, her eyes snapped open, her muscles tense.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she apologized, wide-eyed, hands pushing him away instinctively.

If not for the darkness, he could've sworn her cheeks tinted a bright pink, but under the current lighting, he had to allow his imagination to fill in the gaps. He loosened his grip but held her still, smiling lazily.

"Want to head back?" he asked.

She gradually relaxed again and shook her head. "Do you?"

"And go back to my apartment alone?" he chuckled, running his finger down the jacket covering her body. "No way."

"We can't stay here overnight," she reasoned, eyes closing again.

"I know," he replied playfully, a chuckle deep in his throat, "but you don't seem ready to go."

"Ten more minutes," she murmured.

He grinned. She could have that.


	23. 123, Freaks and Tweaks

**Episode 1.23, Freaks and Tweaks**

_Alexx stormed into the ballistics lab with a report in her hands._

_"Did you see this?" she asked Calleigh, waving the report around. "Dennis had cyclopentolate in his bloodstream. A hundred and fifty micrograms per mil, according to the tox report."_

_"Aren't you supposed to be off this case?" Calleigh asked._

_"Jones got the report," Alexx sassed. "Can't help it if I can read upside down."_

_Calleigh looked at Alexx and smiled._

_"See those ingredients?" Alexx continued, pointing at the report. "That's why Dennis's eyes were dilated at post: prescription eye drops. And who has access to eye drops, and who is an eye doctor at Coral Gables professional building?"_

_"Your friend Julie," Calleigh replied quietly. "I'll talk to Hagen about it."_

_"You're not even going to ask me why she'd slip Dennis eye drops?" Alexx asked, a hint of incredulousness in her voice._

_"I'm a lawyer's daughter," Calleigh said pointedly. "I don't ask a question that I have the answer to."_

-/-/-

It was the end of a long double shift, and Eric wanted nothing more than to get home, wolf down some leftover pizza, slip into a quick shower and go to bed. When he wandered into the locker room and found Calleigh sitting on the bench, however, his plans for the night immediately changed.

She appeared to be deep in thought, and she didn't seem to have noticed his presence yet, which in itself tipped him off. He hesitated a moment before approaching her.

"Hey," he said quietly, trying not to alarm her.

She looked up, tensing as she did, but quickly relaxed again when she saw that it was him. She didn't seem horribly worried about putting on a brave front for him, and that put him at ease.

He moved over and sat down beside her on the bench. "Everything okay?" he broached.

She nodded, albeit unconvincingly. "It's just been a long shift."

"I heard about Alexx's friend," he said, as much a shot in the dark as any other guess, but it didn't seem far from what was on her mind, because she shifted uncomfortably at the mention.

"Yeah, shooter's going away for a long time," she replied, sounding detached.

He kept his eyes trained on her, but she didn't seem to appreciate the scrutiny, so he turned and stared straight ahead. "That's good, right?"

She let out a small humorless chuckle. "He was twenty-two and willing to do anything for this woman."

"He killed someone," he reminded her.

"I know." She swallowed and looked down at her lap. "I'm not justifying what he did."

"You're always the first to advocate our justice system, to remind me that what we're doing helps people," he said, hoping his words didn't sound condescending. "What's different this time? Alexx?"

Calleigh bit her lip. "She doesn't deserve this. Her children…" She trailed off, stiffening, and she let out a slow breath. "Just part of the job," she mumbled, and he knew that her own words meant nothing to her.

"I think it's okay to feel for the victims, their friends and family," he said thoughtfully, his hand seeking out hers.

She slipped her hand into his and squeezed it, staring down at the mesh of fingers. "It's a lot less complicated if we don't."

He nodded. "Maybe, but Alexx is more than just a victim's friend," he countered gently. "She's ours, too."

She ran the pad of her thumb in a small circle around one of his knuckles. "The woman, Julie… Alexx had known her for ages. She _trusted_ her," she emphasized, and he knew how much that meant to her, even if she did very little to overtly show it.

"This job," he began, trying to find the words to comfort her. "It shows us the worst in people."

She nodded. "Yeah." She gave his hand another squeeze, then, to his dismay, she slipped her fingers away from his. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "I don't know why I'm letting this affect me so much."

"Hey, no apologies," he told her, his hand suddenly feeling very empty. He pressed his palm against the bench. "Let's go get something to eat," he suggested, wanting, above all, to keep her mind off the case.

She smiled gratefully. "I'm not really hungry," she replied, almost apologetic. "You don't have to stay here," she added quickly, "especially since I know you haven't eaten since that tiny cheeseburger at lunch."

"Are you questioning the infamous Eric Delko stomach?" he teased.

She laughed softly. "I have seen you go an entire day without consuming anything of sustenance," she admitted.

"See? I'll be fine," he reassured. "I'm staying here."

She didn't know how to thank him for the gesture, though it meant a tremendous amount to her. He was loyal to a fault, and she admired him for it. It was unintentional, she knew, but he was teaching her lessons she'd spent a lifetime running away from. Affairs of the heart; intangible entities like devotion and selflessness. She'd never been the opposite of those things, but she'd never met someone who loved his family and friends quite the way he did. It wasn't quantifiable, but the intensity there, the black and white quality he used to help her separate her shades of gray, she appreciated it more than he'd probably ever know.

"My father is a defense lawyer," she said suddenly and without any provocation. She was getting better at the whole talking-it-out thing, and she knew she had him to thank for it.

He nodded. "You've mentioned that."

She took a moment before continuing. "I learned at a young age that it's not what you do, but what the investigators can prove."

He studied her, trying to read something off her tone. "Is that why you became a CSI?"

She looked up and made real eye contact with him for the first time that night. She smiled thoughtfully. "Evidence isn't perfect, but it does its job most of the time." She looked down at his hand, still pressed to the bench, and exhaled as she covered it with her own. "It's reliable where people aren't."

"It can be trusted," he rephrased for her.

She chuckled bitterly. "Trust doesn't mean much anymore, does it?"

"I trust you," he murmured, eyes outlining her tiny hand. "That means something to me," he added when she didn't say anything.

There were windows of opportunity that she was too cautious to climb through. She was too proud to admit fear, too guarded to extend trust, but even she knew that wasn't exactly true. Her own rules and limitations seemed to crumble wherever he was concerned, and she knew, without a single doubt, that she trusted him with her life. Verbalizing it, however, was an entirely different issue.

And even though he seemed to be satisfied with the idea that he held the emotional capacity for the both of them, she wanted him to know that despite how closely she clutched her cards, she always had a few to show him. _Only_ him.

"I trust you, too," she finally whispered, increasing pressure on his hand to punctuate her words.

He smiled. "Trust doesn't have to be a two-way street."

"No," she agreed, "but I mean it." She looked up and found his smile infectious. "I trust you," she reiterated, and it'd never felt so liberating.

There would remain words left unspoken, but she'd exposed three and left the door open for a million more.


	24. 124, Body Count

**Episode 1.24, Body Count**

_Calleigh stood on the beach, their latest crime scene, mere feet from where Janet Medrano lay lifeless with a gunshot wound to the head._

_"Oh," Calleigh murmured, arms wrapped around her own body as the wind tossed her hair. "I can't believe he went for Janet."_

_"Calleigh," Hagen began._

_"I want to be there when you notify her family," she interrupted, swiping a strand of hair away from her face. "Her parents are going to be devastated."_

_"You shouldn't be anywhere near this," Hagen protested. "If Kerner's bold enough to go after the prosecutor on his tourist trial," he added, motioning toward Janet's body, "he's going to come after the CSI. You should take time off 'til this is over."_

_Calleigh let out a humorless chuckle as she grasped for a semblance of control over her tiding emotions. "With fugitives out there?" she scoffed. "I don't think so."_

_"I'm sure Horatio will say the same thing," Hagen replied, reaching for his cell phone._

_"John," Calleigh warned, "put the phone down. I have never so much as taken a sick day and I am not about to start now." She removed the sunglasses that had been sitting on the crown of her head and moved them to shield her moist eyes._

_"Don't you get it?" Hagen asked. "Kerner broke out to kill anyone who could hurt him in trial. You're next, Calleigh."_

_"Well, then so be it," she shot back, "'cause I'm not leaving the investigation."_

_Without braving another look at her fallen friend, Calleigh turned and headed away from the crime scene._

-/-/-

She found him at the track a little before sundown, running laps around the empty field.

She didn't know what had prompted her to come here, because she had little to no intentions of working up a sweat, but she remembered him mentioning that he frequented this field after a particularly rough shift, and well, it'd be an understatement to say that she'd had one of those.

She figured that if she were to be completely honest with herself, she'd secretly hoped to find him here, but her pride quickly dismissed that idea. Still, she couldn't explain the relief that nibbled at her when she saw him there, his feet pounding the pavement in a rhythm she found mesmerizing. She slipped through the door in the fence and sat down on the grass near a lone bag that must've been his. Through her shades, she watched him finish his lap, and when he neared where she was seated, he finally noticed her and jogged over. She pushed herself up and greeted him with a small smile.

"Calleigh, what are you doing here?" he asked, surprise evident as he reached down into his bag for a towel.

"I don't know," she replied honestly with a short laugh. She wrapped her arms around herself and quietly added, "Just needed some fresh air."

He softened considerably at that. Within hours of the homicide, the entire lab had known about Calleigh's personal connection to their victim, and Eric didn't need to be reminded that she'd sounded hesitant and strained when she'd called from the scene. He'd known that they'd been close, but he'd also known that if he'd asked how she was then, she would've brushed him off and chastised him for inquiring when there were felons on the loose. Suffice to say, he was glad she found him here, accidentally or not.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sliding his sweaty jersey over his head and tossing on a clean one he'd pulled from his bag.

She looked away as he changed. "I wish people would stop asking me that."

He offered an apologetic smile. "How did, uh, how did her parents take it?"

"Poorly, as you'd expect," Calleigh replied after a short hesitation. "She was their only child." She looked up and caught his eye through her sunglasses. "They're probably going to set her funeral for this weekend, and I don't know, it's just incredibly soon." She took a deep breath. "I'm not ready to officially say goodbye."

"Are you going to be—" He cut himself off. "Is it okay if I make an appearance at the funeral?"

She looked surprised. "Did you know Janet?"

He picked up a water bottle and uncapped it. "No, but I just thought… I mean, if it's going to be a small family and friends affair, then I—"

"I don't think it will be," she told him. "She was always the life of the party, you know?" she added, only realizing as an afterthought her poor choice of words. "She would want a lot of people there," she finished quietly.

"Okay," he nodded, taking a liberal gulp of water. "You don't mind?"

"That shouldn't matter," she replied, a little harsher than she'd intended. "You'd be going for her, not me, and if that's not the case, you shouldn't come."

He nodded again and bit the inside of his cheek. "I'm going for her."

She couldn't tell whether he was being sincere, but really, she couldn't fault him for trying. She understood where his need to be present was coming from, and though she fought tooth and nail against the notion that he was going to a funeral for someone other than the deceased, she knew that she'd do the same for him without the slightest hesitation. The propriety of that, anyone could argue, but she didn't doubt the purity of his intentions.

She leaned back against the chain link fence behind her. "We were supposed to grab dinner Thursday night," she said quietly, shaking her head in disbelief. She felt tears stinging the backs of her eyes and was immensely glad for her shades. "I'd cancelled on her the last two times we'd made plans."

Eric fiddled with his bag for a moment before joining her against the fence, which dipped under his weight. "How did you two meet?"

"Oh, it was nothing special," Calleigh replied. "Janet was the prosecutor in one of the first cases I worked here in Miami. We just hit it off." She turned to him for a moment then stared straight at the track again. "In this job, there aren't a lot of women, you know? Difficult to find co-workers to discuss girly things with."

He raised an eyebrow in interest but didn't pursue it, instead opting for, "I'm sure Tyler would be more than happy to gossip about cute guys with you."

"Oh, leave him alone," she shot back playfully.

"Hey," he said defensively, "you questioned his sexuality first."

"I did," she agreed, "but I've now seen pictures of his girlfriend." She paused for emphasis, then looked up at him and added, "You'd be jealous."

Eric scoffed. "If she's as hot as you say she is, then I've got three words for you: free tech support."

"You're such a romantic," she chuckled with a hint of endearing sarcasm. She fell quiet again as she took a moment to collect her thoughts. "Janet was the one I got my tattoos with," she revealed with a small, nostalgic smile. "She had two done that day as well, same placement. A balance scale on one hip to represent her dedication to law and a pair of comedy-tragedy masks on the other for her love of theatre." Calleigh bit her lip as a sudden rush of loss hit her hard in the chest. She took in a shaky breath. "We got them to remind ourselves of the equilibrium between work and play."

"Was your revolver work or play?" he asked after a moment of deliberation.

She smiled faintly. "My revolver was play," she replied, "though Janet complained that I cheated by incorporating work since I'm in firearms."

His eyes traced her hip, where he knew her mysterious tattoo hid. "What was the one representing your work?"

She shook her head. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she asked teasingly.

"Oh, come on," he complained with a slight eye-roll. When that seemed to garner little reaction, he took a few guesses. "A badge? A test tube?"

"Eric Delko," she scolded playfully, "do I look like the kind of woman who would get a test tube tattooed to her hip? Lord knows what it could look like."

He chuckled and pushed himself off the fence. "I'll find out someday," he said confidently.

"Good luck," she wished him, offering a tiny smile. She straightened up and stood in front of him. "I just… miss her," she murmured, feeling weak and all sorts of pathetic for having admitted that. But it was Eric, and she found comfort in that solitary fact.

He had very few words, and he didn't think she'd appreciate the ones that he did have, so he gently pulled her into his arms and held her there. She let him, her own arms snaking around his torso and gripping him tightly. He listened to the cadence of her breathing and read from it a hunger for justice for her fallen friend. With a heavy heart, he tried to cherish the moment for what it was because he got the feeling she wouldn't allow herself to be like this for a long time.

He almost wanted to apologize for having just completed laps around the track and probably smelling the part, but she breathed in his scent and her muscles seemed to loosen rather than tense, so he decided not to fix what wasn't broken.

Calleigh evened out a shaky breath. "I wish I'd spent more time with her when she—" Her voice trailed off and the rest of her words were lost in a muffle against his chest.

In that moment, Eric learned what it meant to experience someone else's anguish. He felt it, distinctly, the sting in his chest as he held her, and he knew it had very little to do with the loss of a talented district attorney but rather for the blonde in his arms. He almost felt guilty about that, but he dismissed it immediately, because Calleigh didn't need him stewing over his non-issues.

What she needed was this. Gentle, comforting actions where words weren't enough, where nothing in the world seemed to be able to numb the pain of losing a close friend. She needed his silence, his presence, and she needed to be reminded that beyond the chaos and the injustice, he was there for her, lightly fingering her hair in a soothing manner and easing a small transfer of burden from her to him.

He held her quietly for what seemed like hours before she loosened her grip and pulled away. He released her and watched as she took a few steps back to distance herself. She ran her fingers anxiously through her hair, summoning the strength to speak.

"I should go, uh—" She cleared her throat. "Back to CSI, I just got out for a quick breather."

"Are you sure you should be working?" he asked against his better judgment.

"My friend passed; I didn't," she replied, dismissing his verbal concern like he knew she would.

"I just thought, Kerner's case is closed. You deserve a small break for catching the guy," he pointed out. "Literally," he added good-naturedly.

At that, she gave a small smile. "I'm fine."

He nodded and took a step toward her. Tentatively, he reached over and lifted her sunglasses from her face, carefully folding them and tucking a temple into her gun holster. Her eyes were downcast but she didn't protest his actions or how intimate it suddenly seemed. She felt a stroke of vulnerability now that her eyes were no longer shielded from his, but she experienced no desire to hide them again.

"Work and play," he reminded her, searching for a hint of emerald. "Equilibrium. Don't forget that."

She blinked back a few stray tears and allowed him to walk her to her car. He watched as she climbed in, buckled up and pulled out onto the street, smiling softly at him through the windshield.

Five minutes later, at an intersection where a left turn would've brought her to the lab, she dug her nails into her steering wheel and took a right.

* * *

A/N: And that concludes the first season. Thanks to everyone who has been sticking with this compilation despite my tendency to abandon it for long periods of time. Special thanks to those who have been leaving encouraging reviews! Season two will feature tiny doses of Hagen, a war against canon and more Valera than anybody will be able to stomach. Stay tuned!


	25. 201, Blood Brothers

**Episode 2.01, Blood Brothers**

_Calleigh entered the DNA lab with a swab of skin cells from the air bag they'd found at the trash barge earlier._

_"Good afternoon," she greeted the new lab tech._

_"So, what do we have here?" Valera asked, eyeing the evidence in Calleigh's hands._

_"Epithelials from the air bag," Calleigh replied. "Would you mind checking it to see if it matches the saliva from our spitting champ?"_

_Valera nodded. "I'll page you."_

_"I'll wait," Calleigh said. "I'm very hands-on. They may have mentioned that to you when you transferred here."_

-/-/-

"And that's how I ended up skinny-dipping in Sawyer Lake in the middle of February," Valera finished proudly. None of the other four present seemed to share her enthusiasm, however, and she shrugged. "You know, back in Colorado, it was a big deal." In the face of further silence, she took a gulp of beer, letting out a laugh that revealed she was about a beer and a half past reasonable coherence. "What? It's on my bucket list."

"Why do you have a bucket list?" Speed asked wryly, his own alcohol having loosened his tongue. "Those are for old people and pedophiles."

"Everybody should have a bucket list," Valera dismissed, turning to the others for support. "Don't you guys have crazy stuff you want to do before you kick the big one?"

"Sure," Calleigh replied, "but we don't have a written record of it."

"Actually," Tyler interjected, "if I ever come across something I want to do, I write it down."

"Maybe it's a lab tech thing," Valera shrugged, turning her interest back to her drink.

"Or," Speed grumbled, "you two are just fucking insane."

Before Valera could retort with something nonsensical, Eric, who had stayed rather quiet the entire night, interrupted. "Okay, I think this is a good place to end the night."

Everyone else agreed, though Valera put up a fight until Tyler reminded her that they both had early shifts the next morning. Outside the bar, after thanking everyone for being so hospitable, Valera left with Tyler, who was surprisingly sober. Speed left alone, but he always had a way of finding his way home safely.

It had been a nice evening. As it turned out, Maxine Valera was not shy about getting her new co-workers together for drinks, and Calleigh was almost surprised that she'd thought to invite her despite the hard time she'd given the lab tech earlier in the day.

Eric turned to Calleigh. "I'll see you tomorrow," he said, ready to leave that as his goodnight.

She caught his arm to stop him. "Hey, how much did you have?" she asked, trying to gauge him.

"Not much," he dismissed. "I'm okay to drive."

She shook her head. "Come on, I'll give you a ride home."

He began to protest, but he stopped himself when he realized that her issues with driving buzzed extended past her concern for his safety. The very fact that Eric had the lucidity to recognize that should've been enough to prove his sobriety, but he wasn't about to approach that topic, so he wordlessly followed her to her car and climbed in once she unlocked the passenger's door for him.

Calleigh walked around to the other side and got in as well. As she pulled out onto the road, she considered saying something about his mood, but she knew that he'd only dismiss it, so she chose a different route.

"I'll pick you up tomorrow morning so you can come get your car," she told him.

"Don't worry about that," he reassured. "I'll take a cab."

She frowned. Something was different. Something was _wrong_, and she felt like she was straddling the line between concerned and prodding. Briefly, very briefly, she wondered if that was how he felt every time she withdrew into her shell and refused to reveal what was on her mind.

"You feeling okay?" she asked tentatively.

He nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You've been quiet all night," she remarked.

He didn't offer a response to that, because the truth was, he was in a terrible mood, and the one person he always found easiest to confide in was the one person he _couldn't_ confide in. Some higher power's idea of a practical joke, no doubt. Earlier that day, he'd overheard some lab techs gossiping about office relationships, and his blood had turned to ice when he'd heard Calleigh and Hagen mentioned in the same sentence. He didn't believe a word of it, especially because, well, they tell each other these kinds of things. Later, he'd paid greater attention to the interaction between the two, and there was no longer any doubt in his mind. He almost wanted to ask her about it, but there must've been a reason why she'd neglected to share that information with him. He couldn't figure it out, and he hated that he'd had to hear about it from those nosy lab techs. He should've noticed it himself, if anything.

And now she was grilling him about it, or about to, anyway, and that was the last thing he wanted to answer to. Quickly, he made an effort to change the subject.

"What's on your bucket list?" he asked.

It was such a strange question, and it caught Calleigh off guard. She shot him a look, but he was turned toward the window. "I don't have a bucket list," she answered.

"Hypothetically."

She looked at him again, and he was staring back at her this time. There was something she'd been catching in his gaze recently. Or maybe it'd always been there and she'd only begun noticing it. Either way, it alarmed her, and she wasn't sure why. She half-shrugged. "I haven't really thought about it."

"Oh, come on." His interest was growing, and it did a rather excellent job of helping him mask his predicament. "I'll tell you one of mine if you tell me one of yours."

She thought about it for a moment. "Okay," she finally agreed, "but you go first."

He nodded. "I want to learn how to juggle," he revealed with a small, almost embarrassed chuckle. "With at least four or five objects," he added, as if that made it better.

She laughed in spite of herself as a mental image flourished in her head. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously." He grinned, his mood instantly uplifted. "Your turn."

Without giving it another thought, she told him, "I've always wanted to run the Boston Marathon."

"Wow, that kind of makes my juggling thing sound like child's play," he laughed, soaking up every tidbit of information she offered despite everything. "When are you going to find the time to train for it?"

"I—don't know," she replied with a relaxed smile. "I guess that's why it hasn't been done yet." She paused. "Actually, I find the time to jog a couple times a week."

He leaned forward slightly to adjust the radio. "How come I didn't know that?" he asked, the second meaning obvious only to himself.

She smiled brightly. "It's my alone time," she explained, though her playful tone gave her away.

"Ah," he nodded knowingly, a small smile playing on his lips. "I've heard that one before."

"We should jog together sometime," she suggested.

He quirked an eyebrow. "I thought it was your alone time?" he teased.

"You know that doesn't apply to you," she said softly, with such delicacy that his heart skipped half a beat.

He quickly pushed that out of the way, storing it far, far away. She was already pulling up to his building, and she put the car into park, turning toward him in the process.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she asked again, searching him for any indication of discomfort.

He felt a strange domestic pull, and days like today made him wish he could spend the rest of the night nestled against someone who didn't mind staying up with him talking about insignificant things until one of them fell asleep in the other's arms. It troubled him that the briefest flashes of Calleigh in this scenario infiltrated his mind.

"Yeah," he nodded, "you helped make it okay." He found it easy, still, to say things that could touch her, because beyond it all, they were still best friends, and he still loved seeing her happy.

She smiled, a hint of uncharacteristic timidity coloring her cheeks. "I didn't do anything."

"You can always—" He stopped himself there, and a flicker of mutual understanding passed between them.

"Goodnight, Eric," she whispered, sensing something greater than the both of them approaching.

Like always, it passed, and he pushed open the car door. "See you tomorrow, Calleigh," he said with a small smile. "Thanks for the ride."

He left, yearning for the comfort he knew she found in another man's arms.


	26. 202, Dead Zone

**Episode 2.02, Dead Zone**

_After being submerged underwater for a little too long, Eric broke the surface and started swimming toward the boat. He climbed aboard and handed Calleigh the camera he'd used to take pictures of the treasures at the bottom of the sea._

_"Let me see that camera," Horatio said._

_"What'd you find?" Calleigh asked, holding out the camera to Horatio._

_"I swear I saw a mermaid," Eric replied, climbing the stairs to join the other two._

_Calleigh chuckled and leaned against the railing as he passed. "Dream on, diver man."_

_"Got a vacuum nozzle," Horatio said as he studied the camera footage. "How much disturbance was down there?"_

_Eric took a seat to gain some rest. "I don't remember," he answered, his head still spinning._

_"Okay," Horatio replied, still reviewing the footage. "How deep were you?"_

_"I don't know, uh—" Eric checked his diving watch. "A hundred and ten feet."_

_"Narcosis," Horatio noted._

_"Yeah, nitrogen levels are triple at that depth," Eric confirmed. "No wonder I felt like I was drunk."_

_"Could explain why you saw a mermaid," Calleigh piped in teasingly._

-/-/-

Eric was trying not to be worried. His better judgment told him to leave it, because Calleigh could take care of herself. He would _not_ seek her out, he would _not_ ask her about the ice pack, and he most certainly would _not_ pry into her private life. It would cause too many complications, and neither of them needed any more of those.

Sometimes, however, the complications sought _him_.

He hadn't expected to find her in the locker room, but he did. He'd caught a double shift and hadn't seen Calleigh at all during it, so he'd assumed that she'd gone home. Apparently not. She was seated on the bench, shoulders slightly hunched; she hadn't noticed him entering.

"Double shift?" he asked, startling her.

She straightened up and offered a tired smile. "Found a cozy spot in the break room to finish up some paperwork," she explained.

Of course; the break room. The one place his busy schedule had kept him away from. He had to wonder why she'd stayed at CSI instead of finishing her work in the comfort of her home, but it really wasn't any of his business.

He approached her. "Is your shoulder okay?"

"Did John say something?" she asked, sounding more defensive than she'd meant to be.

"No," Eric replied, slightly taken aback by her tone. He studied her, trying to figure out what Hagen had to do with anything. He felt out of the loop, and he hated feeling that way when it came to her. Why did Hagen – _fucking Hagen_ – know about it before he did? Calleigh usually kept these things to herself, and even though Eric knew he didn't have the right to be the first she'd tell, it still bothered him. It almost made him feel like he was intruding; never before had he felt like an outsider in her life. "I saw you press an ice pack against it earlier," he explained.

She turned away from his scrutiny. "I'm okay," she dismissed.

He took a seat next to her, though he wasn't entirely sure what had inclined him to do so. "Can I see it?" he asked, immediately regretting it. He did not need to be reminded of what he couldn't have.

She hesitated. She probably would've in any situation, but her reluctance was magnified by her involvement with Hagen. She wasn't sure if Eric knew, but he hadn't said anything, and she mistook his silence as unawareness. She couldn't even confirm why she hadn't told him, but the longer she waited, the less she felt like she could without something shifting out of balance. A nagging voice kept telling her that it wouldn't be the same if he knew, and maybe that was true. She'd noticed him acting strangely around her a handful of times recently, but mostly, everything remained the same. She held on to that.

Slowly, she pushed aside her jacket and looked away as she felt Eric's eyes turn toward her shoulder. It felt different, somehow, from when she'd had to show Horatio, even different from when Hagen saw it. Her heart was pounding, and she reminded herself that it shouldn't be. There was logic, and then there was reality; she knew that whatever was going on between them didn't follow any of her guidelines. That frustrated her, because she needed to separate Eric the best friend from… _this_. The line between them had never been clear, but she always figured that it would eventually settle. It still hadn't; she had butterflies.

Her bruise was already turning a nasty color, and Eric winced. It reminded him how delicate she could be – physically, at least, though he knew it to be an appropriate reflection of the few moments of weakness she'd allowed him to witness. He fought the urge to reach out and stroke her shoulder, because he didn't want to hurt her, and because he knew she didn't like to be in a position of vulnerability. It was against those unwritten, unspoken rules, too, now that he knew she was… involved. He really didn't want to be thinking about that right then.

"Spear gun?" he asked, his voice low though there was nobody else in the locker room.

Her eyes flickered to his. "How did you know?"

He smiled. "Not the first time I've seen a bruise shaped like that." His finger twitched as he fought back another impulse to touch her shoulder. "I thought I taught you how to shoot one of those things," he quipped.

She laughed quietly and pulled her jacket back over her bruised shoulder. "I _do_ know how to use a spear gun," she protested good-naturedly. "I do not need to explain to you why they don't kick as hard in the water."

They sat there in silence for a little while, and he discovered that he still found comfort in her proximity, even with what he knew. If he were being fair, he would've realized that this Hagen fiasco didn't change anything between them, especially considering his own track record. He wondered if this… protective jealousy was what had driven her to drop hints about her dissatisfaction with whoever he'd been seeing at the time, back when he'd had that radiation scare.

Calleigh nudged her knee against his. "About that mermaid you saw this morning…"

"There _was_ a mermaid," he reminded her.

She nodded. "Be careful down there," she urged quietly, the seriousness in her voice unmistakable. "Don't stay that deep for so long."

He smiled. "I know my limits," he reassured her.

"It's just…" She hesitated, smiling faintly to cover her apprehension. "When Gerry called you over the radio a few times and you didn't respond, that scared me."

Her confession surprised him, and he immediately felt better than he had all week. That was the thing about Calleigh; she could do that. She rarely offered much in the way of being open with her emotions, but when she did, the degree with which she meant her words carried such weight, he found himself drunk on them.

He gently touched her arm. "Calleigh, our jobs are dangerous."

"I know," she nodded. "Just try not to OD on nitrogen again."

He chuckled. "I'll try."

He gave her arm a squeeze as he realized that whatever else they had going on, they'd never lose this part of them. He cherished that.


	27. 203, Hard Time

**Episode 2.03, Hard Time**

_Eric hurried out of the stairway and glanced at his watch, just as the elevator bell dinged. Calleigh stepped out behind him, carrying packages of evidence in her arms._

_"Hey, Calleigh," he greeted._

_"Hey," came the emotionless reply._

_He began following her toward the evidence room. "Hey, listen," he said, "thanks for taking that DB call-out at that condo. I really appreciate it."_

_"Sure."_

_"You know how traffic's a bitch getting over to Biscayne," he explained._

_She walked through the doors of the evidence room; he followed closely behind._

_"Yeah," she replied. "People say."_

_"Everything go okay?" he asked, sensing that something was off but knowing better than to outright mention it._

_"Uh, let's see." She stepped around the table. "We may have a timeline off some wood, got some shoe prints, possible DNA off a Kleenex…" She placed the evidence on the table and began sorting them. "Oh, and the dead girl wasn't dead," she added with the same detachment._

_"What?" he demanded, incredulous._

_She looked up. "She was hanging on by a thread."_

_"You're kidding," he said, and he was greeted with silence, which immediately sobered him up. He swallowed hard. "Where is she?"_

_"Over at Grace Memorial," Calleigh replied, giving him a quick look. "By the grace of God, I might add."_

-/-/-

During his break, he caught her in the hallway, walking briskly toward wherever she was headed. She didn't seem any more approachable than she'd been earlier in the day, and frankly, he couldn't blame her. He'd flaked, and other than the woman who'd almost died, which still rested heavily on his guilt, he knew that Calleigh valued punctuality.

"Hey, Calleigh, got a minute?"

She turned to him briefly but didn't slow down. "I'm on my way to DNA," she told him. "What's up?"

He fell into step with her. "I know you're probably mad at me for missing the call-out, and I wanted to apologize," he offered, unable to read her.

"What makes you think I'm mad at you?" she asked without missing a beat.

"Aren't you?"

"Eric." She stopped in front of the door to the DNA lab, her tone neither menacing nor sympathetic. He sensed a subdued aggression there, a warning. "If you say that traffic was an issue," she added, pushing the door open, "then traffic was an issue."

He followed her into the lab and up to the table where Valera was working, though Calleigh was making a dedicated effort to ignore him.

Calleigh turned toward Valera and held out the small evidence envelope she'd been holding. "Valera, could you process these samples?"

Valera looked up from her work and took the envelope from Calleigh. "The Carlton case?"

"Yeah," Calleigh nodded, "finally got a warrant for the wife's DNA."

"As soon as I'm done with this," Valera said, motioning toward the swabs that littered her countertop, "I'll compare it to the blood Speedle found on the victim's pants."

"Thanks."

"Sure," Valera replied. "Eric, what've you got for me?"

He waved her off. "Nothing."

Valera looked up. "So you just followed Calleigh in here like a lost puppy because…?"

He stood up straighter. "We were, uh, talking," he explained, trying to sound annoyed though he wasn't really.

Valera raised an eyebrow in amusement. She glanced at Calleigh, then returned to her work. "Yeah, take it from me, Eric, she doesn't wanna talk to you right now," she assessed casually.

Eric glared at Valera. "What?"

"That's—that's not true," Calleigh supplied, feeling slightly trapped.

Valera shrugged dismissively. "I don't need to take Body Language 101 to read that look, Calleigh."

Calleigh chuckled humorlessly, defenses flaring. "I don't have a look."

Valera rolled her eyes, but the gesture contained little exasperation. If there was one person whose words could be taken for what they were, it was Valera. "Yes, Calleigh, you do," she reinforced. "Now, I will page you when I get your results."

Perhaps sensing that it was a lost cause, Calleigh nodded. "The sooner the better; we can't hold on to the wife for much longer."

With that, she turned to leave. Eric, however, stuck around for a moment.

"Stop it," Valera hissed as soon as Calleigh was out of earshot.

Eric frowned "What?"

"Stop following her around; it makes people think you're in love with her." The moment dragged on, and he missed the opportunity to deny her assessment. "Oh my God," she gasped.

"Valera—"

"Oh, _Eric_."

He shook his head in disbelief and looked nervously around the empty lab. "I'm not," he chuckled.

"Have you told her?" Valera pressed.

"_I'm not_," he insisted.

"Can _I_ tell her?" Valera squealed.

"No!" He ran his hand across his face and groaned. "Valera, I swear to God."

She sobered up slightly. "You know that she's dating someone though, right?"

He forced a chuckle. "Valera, I'm not into her."

"Some detective," she continued thoughtfully, ignoring him. "I've seen him around. He's kind of cute if you squint," she added, squeezing her eyelids into slits as she did. "I wouldn't worry, though," she continued on, dismissing his obvious discomfort. "He's got nothing on you."

"Valera, stop." He released a silent sigh, his words stinging even before they left his lips. "She's happy. Nothing's gonna happen."

Valera blinked. "How do you know that she's happy?"

"Well, she isn't _unhappy_," he reasoned.

Valera rolled her eyes. "Okay, look. I had mediocre sex last Friday. Am I unhappy? No. Would I have traded it for better sex? You wouldn't have to ask twice."

He shook his head, a disbelieving look across his face. "I don't think that metaphor applies. To anything."

She nodded ferociously. "Yes, it does; think about it."

He studied her for a moment, and he didn't know if he should appreciate or resent Valera's persistence. It hadn't taken him long to learn that this was just the way she was, that when she believed something, there was no changing her mind. He sighed in heavy resignation, but as he was about to ask her to drop it, the door to the DNA lab opened and Speed walked in.

"Valera," Speed began, tossing Eric a sideways glance, "did Calleigh drop off Debbie Carlton's DNA?"

"Yeah," Valera nodded, "just a couple of minutes ago."

Speed looked back and forth between Eric and Valera a few times. "So are you two discussing how to compare her DNA to the sample I gave you earlier?" he asked sarcastically.

Valera pointed a gloved finger toward the still-sealed envelope on her table. "I'm getting to it," she dismissed, "but did you know that Eric has a thing for Calleigh?"

Speed quirked his eyebrow, though he barely looked surprised. "Calleigh's still pissed at you 'cause of this morning, by the way."

"Go fix it!" Valera urged, waving Eric toward the door.

"I don't—"

"Get out of here," Speed interrupted, "before Valera starts foaming at the mouth."

Eric shook his head and tossed up his arms in defeat. "Alright, I'm leaving," he declared, turning away.

"Keep me updated!" Valera called out after him.

Eric slipped out of the DNA lab and began walking… somewhere. Calleigh? Should he seek her out and try to apologize again? Did Valera have a point? Had Speed known all along? It was confusing, and though he'd long thought that he'd figured it out, he was quickly discovering that he hadn't.

Before he could make up his mind on where to spend the rest of his break, he found himself at the entrance of the ballistics lab, a place where he intuitively knew she was. He stepped inside, and he wasn't sure if he wanted her to notice him or not.

She did. "Eric."

He approached her and said nothing. Valera's words kept ringing in his head; Speed's, too, but he couldn't really make sense of them.

Calleigh pulled off her gloves slowly and tossed them away, prior tension dissipating. She searched out his eyes and stared into them, piercing. "You know I can't stay mad at you," she said softly, as though reading his mind.

He smiled faintly. "Why's that?"

Her hand reached out, but she stopped herself before it reached its destination on his arm. Instead, she smiled, and it was neither cheerful nor cheerless, just… calming. For a moment, he almost felt like she _knew_ something, but he recognized that as merely a delusion.

Her reply came in a whisper, as an urgency for understanding. "You _know_."

He didn't need further explanation, because somewhere deeper down, he did. He knew.

* * *

A/N: Two things of note:  
1) Countdown to the Hagen/Calleigh breakup: 2 chapters.  
2) Next chapter: Death Grip, my favorite episode of all time.


	28. 204, Death Grip

**Episode 2.04, Death Grip**

_An agitated Eric was standing facing the marshlands of the Everglades. He'd let this one get to him, get under his skin, and he couldn't bear being around anyone. The rage was blinding, suffocating, and he just needed a moment to cool down._

_Calleigh stepped up beside him. "Hey. You okay?"_

_"Blond girl's missing and the National Guard turns out to help," he raved, the resentment spilling from his lips. "Hispanic girl, no one gives a damn."_

_"I think there are a lot of people here," Calleigh remarked softly, knowing her words offered neither comfort nor justification._

_"Oh, come on, Calleigh," he went on, his anger aimed not at her but at the injustice of the situation. "You saw the media's response to Lana Walker," he ranted, gesticulating toward where they'd come from. "Where was the yellow ribbons for Consuela Valdez? The recovery center. It's the same song, you know? You want any real attention in this world, you got to have blond hair and blue eyes." At the realization of what he'd said, he gave Calleigh a look and backtracked, "No offense."_

_She smiled. "None taken," she replied. "My eyes are green."_

-/-/-

It was already dark outside when Calleigh made her way to the fingerprint lab. She knew he'd still be there, poring over stacks of evidence that his eyes were too tired to distinguish between. She knew the feeling all too well; anything to keep her from going home to a lonely apartment, where she had the time to think about the events of the day, the silence to analyze and overanalyze what she could've done differently, what was out of her control, which variables she'd missed and which she'd miscalculated. It was all futile, and she knew as much, but she recognized that very sentiment of avoidance in him.

Quietly, she stepped into the lab. He looked up briefly, but without even acknowledging her presence, he returned to his work. This one, she knew, would be tough. He'd been distant all day, and she hated knowing that he was hurting and not being able to reach him.

With tentative steps, she approached him, and she could already sense his defenses building.

"Feeling better?" she asked.

"Yeah," he dismissed.

"Come take a walk with me," she murmured, keeping her eyes on his work table.

The chuckle that left his lips was full of venom. "Calleigh, I'm fine."

She refused to accept that as a reply. "Come on," she urged again.

He stood firm. "I'm not done here," he argued, waving at the same pile of evidence that had been there an hour ago.

She sighed. "Don't punish yourself," she requested quietly, the closest thing to a plea she'd uttered in months. Still, it garnered no reaction from him. "Eric—"

"Will you just leave me alone?" he snapped, surprising himself when he felt true resentment behind his words. Unlike earlier in the day, when he'd been worried about offending her, he didn't care about how his words would affect her, and by extension, him. "You don't know what it's like."

It was an unfair accusation, a childish one, and he caught a flash of alarm in her eyes before her expression hardened. He suppressed the immediate reaction to apologize, for reasons he had a difficult time pinning down. The rational part of him knew that he had no right to lash out at her when she was just trying to help, but the rest of him was too tired to reason with logic.

She stood quietly for a moment, working the frustration out of her system before turning around and leaving the room. Her departure left a suffocating loneliness in the fingerprint lab, and his first instinct was to drop everything and follow her, apologize, but he pushed that thought away as well. He didn't have the energy to deal with those emotions, and he convinced himself that he just wanted to wallow in his own sorrow for a while. What did Calleigh understand about how he was feeling, anyway? He allowed those toxic ideas to infiltrate his mind, but as the minutes ticked by and it wore away, he was left with only guilt. He shouldn't have snapped at her.

He began to gather the evidence strewn across his table, carefully sealing them away. He disposed of his gloves and hung up his lab coat on his way out of the fingerprint lab. After a quick trip to the locker room to pick up his stuff, he left MDPD and made his way toward his parked car, trying the whole way to figure out how to mend the crack he'd chiseled into their relationship.

A call? Too impersonal. He needed to do this in person. Maybe he could call her to ask her to meet him, but he doubted that she would tonight. He found himself craving that walk she'd offered him, craving her companionship, craving _her_.

She was leaning against the side of his car, the light wind leaving strands of her hair in a messy flurry across her face.

It was dark, but she was definitely waiting for him, and he didn't know how to feel about that. He wanted something from her and he couldn't verbalize it, or he could but it wouldn't be appropriate. He felt volatile around her sometimes, and he… he was nervous; his hand was growing sweaty and his heartbeat had quickened at the sight of her.

She was smiling, albeit faintly, when he approached. She pushed herself off his car and brushed her hair away from her face.

He stuffed his hands into his pockets. "I'm sorry," he murmured, feeling shame and guilt and a million other emotions he didn't want but certainly deserved.

She nodded. "Please don't act like I don't understand discrimination," she said quietly. She didn't seem angry with him, but her words were jagged and purposeful.

"I didn't mean—" He looked down. "I'm sorry," he repeated, even though the words sounded hollow to him, meaningless.

"In this job…" She took a deep breath. "I'm always told I work in a man's world," she said. "I know it's a little different, but I know what it's like to be in the minority, to be marginalized, to feel unwelcome." She searched his eyes for the association, for a flicker of realization in his features.

The tips of his ears burned from humiliation. "Calleigh, I—" He felt stupid, then, because he'd missed the most human of connections, dismissed her concern as merely concern rather than what it really was: understanding. Of course she got it. Of course she understood why he'd been upset. It wasn't about race or gender, and he felt like an idiot for not seeing that. "You're amazing," he whispered, and he'd never meant it so much as now, when he'd verbalized it. He felt so much gratitude, so much appreciation for this woman, even if she did occasionally cause him heartache.

She smiled softly, a flush that he couldn't see rising in her cheeks. "You are, too," she replied, meaning it. He was.

He hung his head. "Not tonight," he disagreed. _Not even close_, his guilt added.

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around him; though surprised, he reciprocated. It was a gentle embrace, one that spoke of apologies and forgiveness and a glimmer of promise.

"Even tonight," she murmured as she pulled away. "Even when you're cranky," she teased.

He chuckled, and a comforting silence enveloped them. He felt a weight off his shoulders, and he could hardly believe that she'd waited for him after he'd pushed her away. It attested her ability to read him, to know when he really wanted to be left alone and when it was nothing more than a defense mechanism built to inflict pain and spread poison.

"Why did you wait for me here?" he asked suddenly.

Her response was immediate and genuine. "I didn't want to go home angry at you."

He smiled at how perfect that was, how authentic and open she could be, and he wanted to revel in this moment forever. In his mind, he tried to paint the scene to memory, and with careful strokes, he recorded every last detail down to the glow in her cheeks and the glint in her eyes. Her green eyes.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter: The Best Defense, which means goodbye, Hagen! (Isn't everyone glad I left him out of this chapter, for once?)


	29. 205, The Best Defense

**Episode 2.05, The Best Defense**

_"I know, I know there's other stuff to analyze," Kenwall conceded from the doorway. He pointed the folder in his hands at Calleigh. "That colleague of yours, detective Hagen. I wanna put him in the box, get his feet to the fire," he continued, oblivious to the reactions of both Eric and Calleigh. "Okay then, bye Sweetie." Kenwall looked past his daughter at Eric. "I appreciate it, young man."_

_"Just doing my job, sir," Eric replied. Kenwall left the doorway, and Eric pretended to return to his work for a moment before candidly asking, "Your old man doesn't know about you and Hagen, does he?"_

_Calleigh looked up. "I didn't know that you knew," she remarked._

_"Oh, right, it's a big secret," Eric teased, avoiding eye contact._

_She stared at him with a hint of disbelief. "Does everybody know?"_

_"Calleigh, we're CSIs," he replied pointedly. "I mean, if we can't figure out something going on between two people…"_

-/-/-

When Calleigh thought about it, she wasn't surprised, but it did make her apprehensive. His acknowledgment had made her uncomfortable, had left her feeling exposed. She wasn't worried about the world seeing her and knowing her secrets, for once; she was only afraid of him. What he thought, how he felt; that mattered, and she wanted to know that nothing had changed, even though she couldn't stop entertaining the idea that everything had.

Ice cream, she'd learned, was the solution to everything. Today, it was chocolate-hazelnut gelato in a plastic cup. She scooped up her first spoonful, and it was every bit as satisfying as she'd imagined. She leaned back against the park bench and sighed blissfully.

Beside her, there was a grumble of disgust. "I can't believe you like hazelnut," Eric remarked, making a face at her ice cream.

"I can't believe you don't," she shot back, taking in another scoop. "Your ice cream is very manly, by the way."

He held up the cup of strawberry shortcake sundae and frowned. "It tastes good, all right?" he replied defensively, taking a heaping spoonful and sticking it into his mouth to prove his point.

She watched as his face slowly contorted, though she could tell he was trying very hard to act normal. She laughed. "Brain freeze?" she asked, knowing the answer before his reply.

He shook his head but didn't say anything, and his eyebrows scrunched together, as though he was trying to focus on a very tiny point in space.

She laughed again, and without thinking much about it, she stuck her spoon into her ice cream and reached for the bridge of his nose. With her thumb and index, she pinched it. Hard.

"Ow!" he cried, his hand impulsively pushing hers away. Spoon still in hand, he rubbed his nose and glared at her. "I didn't have brain freeze," he insisted.

"Not anymore," she quipped, "'cause I cured you."

At that, he had to chuckle. She could be incredibly cute sometimes. It made him want to—

He cut his own thought short, because he wasn't going there, especially when he didn't know where he stood with her. Plus, there was the Hagen thing, and despite the fact that he finally got confirmation from her, albeit reluctantly, he didn't feel any better about it. He thought he would, but if anything, it just became a harder pill to swallow.

"How long have you known?" she asked softly, and he had to wonder if she really did have magical mindreading powers.

"A while," he replied. He opened his mouth but closed it again when he realized he had nothing to add to that.

She nodded and slowly chewed a bite of ice cream. "Why didn't you say something?"

He shrugged. "Why didn't you?"

"I guess—" She looked down at her cup and twirled the spoon inside. "I guess I never thought it'd be anything serious," she admitted.

"Is it?" he couldn't help but ask, hiding his jealousy behind a veil of curiosity.

She looked at him for a moment, then turned back to her ice cream and frowned. "We broke up."

He couldn't stop the immense relief that flooded him, though concern and confusion did make their way to the top of the list rather quickly. "When? What happened?"

"Earlier this week," she replied, suddenly losing all interest in her ice cream. "Let's just say he showed his true colors."

He remained silent for a moment longer than he should have. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "It wasn't serious," she commented, finally answering his earlier question.

He detected a hitch there, and he knew that serious or not, it was affecting her. There really wasn't much he could say here, he realized as an awkward silence began settling in. He didn't want to tell her that she deserved better, even though she did, on the off chance she would take offense. He didn't want to apologize or sympathize, because he was pretty sure she didn't want to hear any of that. She wasn't that girl.

He went for the tried and true approach. "But if there's anything I can do…"

"I know." She smiled faintly. "Thanks, Eric."

The two sat in relative silence for the next few minutes, consumed by thought, facing fears that neither had had to confront in recent memory. It was a 'now what?' type of situation; Hagen was gone and he still felt strongly for her, but he wasn't sure what to think of anything anymore. Did she still believe that it wouldn't work, that they had too good a thing to risk? If she'd changed her mind, how long should he wait? He couldn't believe that he even had all these doubts; he suddenly felt thirteen again, inexperienced and unsure.

He picked up his spoon, scooped up a chunk of sundae and held it up to her lips. She appeared genuinely surprised for a moment, before she processed the situation and deemed it appropriate. She leaned forward and ate the ice cream he offered, and he swore he could see the beginnings of a blush forming on her cheeks.

She smiled. "It's good," she admitted, allowing the cool ice cream to chill the heat rising up her neck. "Still a little effeminate," she added playfully.

He scoffed. "I thought pink was your favorite color."

"Yes," she nodded, "and I'm a girl." She held up her own spoon, topped with ice cream. "Want some?"

He grimaced. "It's hazelnut."

She smiled and fed the ice cream to herself. "More for me."

Eric watched her enjoy her ice cream for a moment, and he wondered if she knew what she was doing to him. She probably did, if the way she licked her lips was any indication. "Fine," he groaned, caving. "Let me try some."

She shook her head. "Nope, sorry," she replied with a straight face, though her playful tone gave her away. "You missed your chance."

He frowned, quickly losing interest in his own ice cream. "Come on."

She shook her head again, a tiny grin affixed to her lips now. "No."

He made a lunge for her cup, but she was quicker than him and pulled away just in time. Even with him hovering above her, her body humming in tune with his, she continued consuming her ice cream like nothing had happened.

He'd like to say he'd thought through what he did next, that it was all a devious ploy in his flawless master plan, but it wasn't. It was far from flawless, far from the certainty he craved from her. There was only impulse, irrationality, a spontaneous desire he couldn't suppress any longer, and when their lips touched for the first time, he couldn't remember any feeling being quite this potent.

She didn't stop him.

He tasted the rim of her mouth, his tongue gently probing. He wasn't searching for the ice cream anymore, though he still tasted it against her soft lips. It was sweet and cocoa-like, and he learned a new appreciation for hazelnut.

She moaned, the sound soft and low in her throat, and it blew his mind that he could coax those sounds out of her, that she wasn't backing down or pushing him away. It was too soon, and he knew as much, but he didn't care about logic, not when he felt her tongue brush against his. Electricity coursed through his veins, heart pumping oxygen to his deprived cells, which were working overtime to increase sensitivity in his nerve endings, not that the extra sensation was really necessary.

Despite the build-up, despite the overwhelming tension, it was a tender kiss, one that explained things he didn't know and exposed things she refused to acknowledge. She wanted this as badly as he did.

Her hand on his chest wasn't protesting, by any means, but he knew that it was over, and reluctantly, their lips parted. Her eyes remained closed, and he kept his forehead against hers.

The park was silent, save for the chirps of the birds and the whistle of the grass as the wind blew them together and apart, together and apart.

"You're right," he murmured. "Hazelnut is pretty good."

"Eric—"

"I know," he breathed.

The hand on his chest gave a gentle nudge. "This isn't going to change things, is it?" she asked, knowing the answer perhaps better than he did.

He shook his head, borrowing her brand of denial, but he couldn't bring himself to verbalize the lie.

"I need time," she added. "_We_ need time."

"We have that," he reassured her, finally pulling himself away when he felt her hand press firmly against his chest.

She looked down at her cup of melted ice cream and swirled it around with her spoon. "This wasn't a mistake," she murmured. She looked up and found his eyes piercing, confused. "I mean, please don't wonder if you should've done things differently or waited," she clarified, motioning between them, "because this was okay. This was good."

He smiled. There was a process, he knew, and he couldn't help but feel like he'd taken the first step.

* * *

A/N: Obviously, I may have just shot myself in the foot since canon dictates the rules of this fic and I just broke one, but I am not as sadistic as the writers tend to be, so... yay!


	30. 206, Hurricane Anthony

A/N: I have been neglecting this fic. Or rather, this ship. And I always end up updating at ungodly hours, which usually means I'm sleep deprived and incapable of coherent thought. But hey, as long as it's readable. ;)

* * *

**Episode 2.06, Hurricane Anthony**

_Calleigh entered the break room, where Eric and Speed were seated. "Hi, guys," she said in a hurry as she passed them. "Bye, guys."_

_"Hey, Calleigh," Eric called out. "I heard you busted the stereo man."_

_She turned around. "Hey, I heard you found out who the car crash victim really is."_

_"Yup, he was a bad guy," Speed piped in._

_"Well, you know, maybe not all bad," Calleigh said thoughtfully._

_"I think the mob would disagree about 1.5 million times," Speed replied._

_"Yeah, but you know what I was thinking? If he hadn't stolen from the mob," she began, "then he never would've become a beach bum in Florida, and then he never would've gotten picked up by the hurricane. And if he hadn't gotten picked up by the hurricane, he never would've hit Burton's car, and if it wasn't for hitting Burton's car, Burton would've gotten away with murder."_

_Eric smiled and nodded slowly. "Leave it to you, Calleigh, to find something good to come out of a hurricane."_

_"They do alleviate global warming," she replied._

-/-/-

Valera was an excellent cook. Apparently. So she claimed.

Calleigh wasn't too convinced yet, but Valera's kitchen was beginning to fill with the aroma of roast beef and potatoes, and if they tasted half as good as they smelled, Calleigh would be very satisfied. Valera certainly appeared to know what she was doing.

Calleigh wasn't particularly concerned about whether or not she'd be fed tonight, though. She was more anxious about seeing Eric out of work for the first time in over a week. She hadn't avoided him at work or anything of the sort; in fact, nothing had changed there. No tension, no awkwardness. They were still them, and it was… perfect, _too_ perfect. That scared her, and in a moment of unease, she'd cancelled their plans to go diving over the weekend, blaming it on the hurricane. It wasn't a terrible excuse but one nonetheless. Work was work, but diving was _diving_, and she'd suddenly been uncertain how to act around him. He hadn't pushed it, but he and Speed were supposed to drop by Valera's later, and Calleigh didn't know what to expect.

Funny how she could see the good in everything except what she and Eric could have.

"You okay there?" Valera asked, head tilted toward her friend as she tended to the food.

Calleigh took a moment to study her, trying to figure out if she could trust the brunette. She'd barely known her two months, and Valera had the reputation of being a bit of a gossip, but Calleigh liked her. She was honest, real, and despite her quirkiness, she seemed to have a good head on her shoulders.

"Eric kissed me," Calleigh revealed, trying to make it sound as inconspicuous as possible.

Valera's eyes widened. "What?!" she cried loudly. "Oh my God, Calleigh, when did he kiss you?"

Calleigh looked around the kitchen nervously, even though it was otherwise empty. "Will you keep it down?"

Valera lowered her voice slightly, though her demeanor remained excited. "Was there tongue?"

The tips of Calleigh's ears burned. "Valera—"

"Oh my _God_," Valera continued, dinner all but forgotten. "Details, please. Did you take pictures? Can I see them?"

Calleigh forced a tight chuckle. "No, I didn't take pictures," she replied, more to fill space than to answer Valera's ridiculous questions. "It was… a spontaneous gesture."

"Aw," Valera cooed. "Those are the best. Was he a good kisser?"

Calleigh felt her pulse quicken at the mere thought. She could almost still taste him on her lips. "Yeah, he was," she nodded.

Valera smiled. "I'm so happy for you guys!"

"We're not… together," Calleigh clarified, frowning slightly when she felt those words stinging.

Valera blinked. "What the hell are you waiting for?"

"I—" Calleigh shook her head. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Valera pursed her lips. "I don't believe that."

Calleigh looked away. "We're just really good friends, you know?" she broached quietly, taking a deep breath. "What if we lose that?" she asked nobody in particular.

"Tell him what you just told me," Valera suggested, uncharacteristically soft-spoken. "You don't want to block him out, because then you'd lose both. I've been there."

Calleigh chuckled humorlessly. "I don't even know what I want."

"I bet he'll wait for you to figure it out," Valera reassured. Her features softened. "He loves you, you know."

Calleigh's eyes flickered. "I don't—"

"He does," Valera insisted.

"He—" Calleigh bit her lip, her chest clenching. "He said that?"

Valera rolled her eyes. "Does he have to?"

Calleigh shook her head. "You can't just assume—"

"Do _you_ love him?" Valera interrupted, eyes unwavering.

Calleigh's eyes dropped immediately. "Maxine…"

Valera smiled lopsidedly. "Yeah, he needs to know that."

Before Calleigh could counter, the doorbell rang, and Valera dropped everything to go answer it. Calleigh checked the oven and considered watching over the food, but she knew she was only making excuses for herself. It wasn't like she could avoid him the whole night.

When she finally made it to the doorway, Valera had already invited Eric and Speed inside. Greetings were exchanged quickly, and though Calleigh caught Eric's eye a few times, she didn't brave any further conversation. She couldn't, anyway, not with Valera and Speed standing by.

As though reading her thoughts, Valera turned back to the kitchen. "Tim, come help me toss a salad," she called over her shoulder. She stopped in her tracks and turned around, the gears in her dirty mind turning. "Like one you can eat," she clarified. She made a face. "Like one with tomatoes!" She stared at the other three. "I'm making this worse, aren't I?"

"You know, Valera," Speed remarked. "Not everyone shares your train of thought."

"What? Assholes are gross," Valera noted, effectively proving Speed's point. "Now come on."

Speed shot Eric a look and followed Valera to the kitchen, out of earshot. Calleigh quickly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear out of habit. It was neither awkward nor uncomfortable, but the silence hung there like an invisible intruder, unwelcome but still difficult to pinpoint. She found herself resenting this limbo between what they had and what they wanted, even if she was having a difficult time admitting it to herself.

Eric took a step toward her. "So does Valera know how to cook?" he asked, gently breaking the silence. He glanced toward where Valera and Speed had disappeared. "'Cause it smells pretty good."

Calleigh nodded, tension immediately melting away. "Yeah, apparently she almost went to culinary school. Who knew?"

Eric chuckled. "Seems like a thing Valera would do, just because it's crazy and completely _unlike_ something she'd do."

"At least she's cooking for us," she said playfully. "I've never so much as tasted a sandwich made by you."

"One day, I'm going to cook you a full meal," he promised ambitiously.

She laughed. "You sure you even know how to boil an egg?"

"Hey, I _do_ have to eat," he retorted, feigning offense.

She smiled. "Well, I guess we'll see if you're all talk or not."

"So you'll let me feed you?" he asked hopefully.

She chuckled, feeling the heat rising in her cheeks. "I will let you feed me," she confirmed.

He grinned, and he was infinitely glad they could communicate genuinely even when tensions were high and emotions ran rampant. He didn't want to come off as pushy, but he certainly didn't want this to slowly slip away like it always seemed to. There was progress in the big picture, he knew, but it seemed like any step toward the potential would undoubtedly generate an opposite reaction. He was getting sick of that.

"I missed you on Saturday," he said softly.

Immediately, Calleigh tossed a glance toward the kitchen. She bit her lip. "I'm sorry."

"No, don't—" He shook his head. "Don't apologize. The hurricane made it a busy week; I understand. I just missed you." He smiled faintly. "I almost forgot what diving was like without you."

Calleigh looked down. "I know I can be an exercise in patience."

Eric frowned, realizing quickly that she wasn't referring to the diving. "Calleigh, hey, it's okay." He paused. "Is there something you want to talk about?" he broached carefully.

Calleigh remembered Valera's words and inhaled quietly. "I'm scared of losing what we have now," she admitted with difficulty. Her eyes met his. "Your friendship means everything to me."

His heart lurched, because he wasn't sure what that meant. It could go either way for him, and only wanted it to go one. "Calleigh, we're not going to lose that," he assured her, searching her eyes for any indication of comprehension.

"You're probably right," she acquiesced.

He nodded. "I am."

"I think—" She hesitated. "I think we should keep doing what we're doing," she suggested, "and see where that takes us."

He reached out and tapped his knuckles against hers. "I think that's a great idea."

She smiled. "We're on for next weekend?"

"Isn't there another hurricane next weekend?" he deadpanned.

She slapped his arm, and he laughed. This was much better.


	31. 207, Grand Prix

**Episode 2.07, Grand Prix**

_"I haven't gotten any control samples," Eric said, looking toward the pits._

_"Really?" Calleigh asked. "Did you check with the other pits? Because I would think that they would have clean samples."_

_"I've been asking all morning," he explained, "but no one's been jumping up to volunteer."  
_

_She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Well, maybe you just haven't been asking the right way," she replied suggestively._

-/-/-

The water was calm, piercingly blue at the surface, darker as it deepened, and Eric did not want to ever leave.

He'd never imagined that there would ever be anything that could make his weekly pleasure dives better than they were, but that was before he invited Calleigh to his trips. He'd gotten used to seeing her now, so much so that it no longer felt complete without her. Thankfully, she didn't miss many days, and he liked to believe that she enjoyed his company as much as he enjoyed hers.

He'd wanted to share the beauty of the ocean with her, and she'd been eager to learn from the best. She was a quick study, picking up on the basics faster than he'd ever seen. After she earned her license, there were no limits for them, no boundaries, nothing they couldn't do. The sense of invincibility was intoxicating for the both of them. The sense of one another was even more so.

Eric climbed onto the deck of the rented boat and helped Calleigh out of the water. They both removed their facemasks.

She was grinning ear to ear. "Did you see the bright pink fish?"

He shook his head, finding her smile contagious. "I was too busy looking at you."

He said it with such simplicity that she almost didn't catch it, and before she had a chance to react, he was talking about something else, though it was suddenly difficult for her to focus on his words. Given her appearances and her proficiency at her job, she was no stranger to compliments, but it'd been a long time since one actually gave her the chills. A very long time.

Eric grinned to himself. He had enough experience in these affairs to know what her reaction signified.

He unzipped his wetsuit and peeled it away from his upper torso, leaving it hanging around his waist as he usually did until he could slip away and change into a pair of shorts. He'd never gone commando under his wetsuit, but he hadn't found anything more comfortable than Speedos. Everything else bunched, and given the amount of time he spent both recreationally and professionally underwater, he'd settled for the least he could get away with. If Calleigh had caught a glimpse, she'd certainly never questioned it.

He slid into the cabin to change. It'd been a nice dive; the weather had cooperated, and Calleigh had been open, alert. He couldn't have asked for anything more.

He returned to the deck and found her seated against the starboard, a towel wrapped liberally around her hips. He didn't want to be caught staring, but he figured by now, she was used to it. She probably enjoyed the attention, too, though judging by her previous reaction, it still surprised her sometimes.

He approached and sat down beside her, shoulders touching because he could, because she let him when they were out on the waters alone, far away from people who knew them and those who didn't. There were no prying eyes here, no judging looks, and she let her guard down. She laughed more than usual, and there was a little pride there, a little ego, because if he could make her laugh this much, he couldn't help but wonder what else he could make her do.

Calleigh smiled up at the sky. "It's so beautiful today," she said blissfully, glowing, and he knew it could be attributed to more than the sun beating down on them.

The best part of their weekly outings had to be seeing her so happy.

She reached down for her bag and pulled out a bottle of sunscreen, and his smile widened. This part, he decided, was a close second.

He watched as she squeezed a dollop of lotion onto her palm and began applying it to her arms, slowly spreading it across her creamy skin. She repeated the action along her legs; he found his lips dry.

"Stop staring," she finally murmured, her tone more amused than annoyed.

He turned away, caught. "I'm not."

She smiled. "You're doing it more than usual today," she observed.

A billion responses flooded his mind, but none made it to his lips. He wanted to apologize, but he wasn't sorry. He wanted to compliment her, but somehow the truth behind her observation was making him mute, strangely aware.

He coaxed the bottle from her hand and poured some onto the center of his palm. Their eyes met, and hers darkened, going from inquisitive to anxious. A silent question passed from him to her, and her head tilted in a form of pseudo-understanding.

As though in slow motion, his hand moved lightly across her abdomen. Her muscles tightened in response. Holding her still with his other hand, he spread the lotion across her skin, a little more courageously now, with a little more pressure. Though there was a tiny protesting voice at the back of her head, she turned toward him to allow him easier access. She watched him watch her with a degree of intensity as she felt his fingers roll across her abdomen and back. It wasn't supposed to feel good. It wasn't supposed to feel _this_ good.

A small gasp escaped her lips when she felt the pad of his finger dip into her navel, and she quickly and firmly pushed his hands away, cheeks hot.

She looked up and was surprised to find her face so close to his. Had he moved or had she? Her eyes fell to his lips, as much as her brain tried to force her to do otherwise. He leaned in, seemingly out of nothing but impulse, desire, until there were two inches that separated them, then one. His breath was warm, short, and she found herself drawn.

As quickly as the moment instantiated, however, it terminated; she pulled herself away, her eyes widened in surprise, her brain processing a million computations at once, but she couldn't figure it out. Logic was dead. Ordinary was nonexistent. This was Eric, and she'd almost—again.

It wasn't supposed to happen so fast, but she couldn't help it. Couldn't help how she felt around him, empowered but vulnerable at the same time. It was so easy to get lost in his words, his actions, and sometimes when her inhibition was foggy, she wanted to experience something amazing. With him. She'd never have the guts to tell him, she thought, not when she couldn't even admit it to herself.

She braved a quick glance at Eric, but there was no confusion on his part, like he'd known something she hadn't. Maybe he did. She pulled her towel higher against her hips, feeling exposed, not only physically.

He cleared his throat and turned his gaze toward the vast waters. "So did Paolo want something in exchange for those gas samples?" he asked casually.

She frowned. "Who?"

"Paolo," he repeated, his words laced with disdain. "The driver at the pit."

"Oh, he wanted to take me for a ride," she replied, pushing aside her hair as the wind tossed it against her face. "On his car," she clarified needlessly.

He raised an eyebrow. "Did you?"

"Eric," she warned.

He shrugged and motioned toward the cabin. "You want something to eat?"

"I didn't go," she replied quietly.

He nodded. "It shouldn't matter," he said after a moment of hesitation.

She fiddled with her towel again. "But it does?"

He looked at her and nodded again. "A little," he replied sincerely.

A small smile appeared on her lips because as much as the unease between them made her uncomfortable, she thrived in playing the game. She was an expert "I wouldn't have—" She trailed off and turned to him, squinting against the sun. "I wouldn't have," she replied definitely, and the understanding passed.

He smiled faintly. This, he knew, wasn't only in his head.


	32. 208, Big Brother

A/N: For the record, I totally forgot what I'd written in the previous chapters, which is why the last one was kind of weird and disconnected? Maybe I should stop updating this fic once every two months. Anyway, I apologize in advance for this one. Eric is a little... well, you'll see. Enjoy!

* * *

**Episode 2.08, Big Brother**

_Tyler stared at the monitor in front of him. "I managed to reconstruct overwritten data to isolate our victim's activity," he told the others._

_Eric looked at the lab tech in disbelief. "English, please?"_

_"_RoughTrader_ was on every night this week," Tyler explained._

_"Always on the same site?" Calleigh asked, squinting to get a better look. "What is that?"_

_"Ah, yes," Tyler replied, "the ever-popular _Sorority Exposed_."_

_"Is that Internet porn?" Calleigh asked flatly._

_"Not like you're thinking," Tyler responded, turning to look up at her. "It's a webcam site."_

_"Oh. What's the difference?" she asked._

_"A webcam is a live camera that uh, people broadcast from their home or office twenty-four seven," Eric piped up._

_"But in this case," Tyler added, "the home is a uh, sorority house in Miami Beach, Florida. Forty cameras, ten rooms."_

_She leaned in and furrowed her brows. "Including the bathroom?"_

_"And showers," Tyler supplied._

_Calleigh looked from Eric to Tyler and back. "Well, you don't seem very surprised," she noted, a hint of accusation in her voice._

_"It's general knowledge that they exist," Eric explained hastily, gesticulating to emphasize his point. "People know about them."_

-/-/-

She didn't know if it had been a particularly rough case, or if he just needed something to take the edge off, but Eric had been ordering more drinks than usual and downing them faster than she'd ever seen. It wasn't cause for concern, mostly because she knew he could hold down his liquor, but she knew he'd always been careful about his alcohol consumption around her, and the change was more unsettling than worrisome.

"Hey, why don't you slow down there?" she said, depositing a gentle hand on his wrist as he reached for his tumbler again.

He turned to her, strangely, looking at her like he'd never seen her before. He shook her hand away. "I'm alright," he replied with detachment. He seemed determined to get somewhere, and while she was curious, she had a feeling she wouldn't like the destination.

She watched him take a few more sips and decided that there was nothing she could do. He was a responsible adult, after all. She'd just have to remember to give him a ride home. He didn't seem all that interested in conversation, which was unusual, but the bar was bustling with activity, and the silence between them wasn't as prominent.

He began walking his fingers along her forearm; it tickled, but she didn't stop him.

"What were you like?" she asked vaguely.

He looked up lazily. "Hmm?"

She swiped at his fingers. "What were you like when you were younger?" she elaborated.

He furrowed his eyebrows as though in deep thought. "How much younger?"

She smiled at his confusion. "Just younger."

He pressed his fingertip against her skin. "I was a good kid," he replied finally, laughing a little louder than he probably would have without the alcohol. "Didn't cause my parents too much trouble."

Her smile widened at the thought of Eric as a boy. His response surprised her. "Really?"

"Yeah, why?" he asked, tilting his head to look at her. "You think I was a troublemaker?"

She nodded, amused. "Yeah."

He shook his head. "My dad would've kicked my ass." He turned to her again with a mischievous grin. "Not until college."

She hummed, an image flourishing in her mind. "I can see that." She fiddled with his fingers for a few more moments, frowning when a thought occurred to her. She couldn't stop the question from tumbling from her lips. "There were a lot of girls?"

His chuckle gave her the answer, and she had to work to suppress the sudden surge of jealousy. She chastised herself for feeling this way, for being childish. It was a long time ago, and even so, it didn't matter because she needed more time to think this through.

Seemed like she was running out of time. The signs were everywhere, though she refused to acknowledge any. She'd always been comfortable enough with herself, with sexuality, that very little she'd seen on the job managed to make her feel like a little girl sneaking peeks at an anatomy textbook for the first time. Incredulous, maybe, because people found some messed up ways to please themselves, but Calleigh had never been shy about it. Everything changed when Eric was around.

It didn't make sense that she could talk about the indiscretions caught on tape with Tyler for as long as the job required, but the moment Eric was part of that conversation, there was overwhelming tension, undeniable apprehension.

She felt his breath hot against her face. His reply was delayed, but when it finally connected, it gave her the chills.

"None of them were as pretty as you," he reassured her with a cheeky grin that somehow still carried a degree of sincerity.

She couldn't stop the flush that rose in her cheeks. "You've had too much to drink," she dismissed, more to convince herself than anything else.

He shook his head and leaned in, his words suddenly pronounced. "Calleigh, you are," he breathed. He looked at her for a moment longer than necessary, then took another drink. "I need to ask you something," he said suddenly.

She nodded slowly, reluctantly. Her pulse sped up in anticipation, anxiety. "Okay. Go ahead."

"Okay." He tilted his glass to his lips, swallowed a generous amount. Liquid courage. "I want you."

Her heart caught in her throat, and for a moment, before her brain could convince her otherwise, it was mutual. "That's—" She frowned and looked down at her own drink, her pulse racing. "That's not a question," she managed.

He breathed a long sigh of defeat; his shoulders slouched. "Why are you making this difficult?" he asked, the only hint of inebriation in the substance of his words. Otherwise, he was clear, seemed coherent, and the determination that emanated from him was both thrilling and shocking at the same time. This wasn't the Eric she knew, yet it was. She knew he'd been harboring those feelings but she hadn't known how deeply they cut, and now, she finally had an idea.

Calleigh felt the goose bumps creeping up against the back of her neck, along her arms. She watched him take another drink. "Eric, we shouldn't—talk about this."

"Stop saying that," he muttered, a slow slur finally seeping into his speech. There was indignation there, true frustration. She couldn't remember the last time he was angry at her. "I'm so sick of not talking about it," he added quietly.

The conversation felt surreal, and Calleigh wished he'd stop looking at her like she was the only person in the room until she realized she was doing the same thing to him. "Is that why you drank so much tonight?" she asked softly, taking a quick glance at his nearly-drained tumbler.

"I didn't have that much," he dismissed, and the idea that he would say these things to her without any help terrified her.

She made a move to stand up. "Why don't I give you a ride home?" she suggested, searching for an out. "We can talk about this in the morning."

"We're not going to," he replied pessimistically, but he grudgingly stood up.

She dropped some change on the table and led him out of the bar in silence. It was different, but the change wasn't necessarily unwelcome. His hand kept brushing up against hers as he swayed, until finally she gripped his hand and held it steady, then released it. Her fingertips tingled.

They walked to her car, and she unlocked the door and helped him into the passenger's side seat. She rounded the front of the car and climbed in the other side. His hand reached up and stopped her from starting the engine. She turned to him in the dark.

He dropped his hands to his lap. "We don't have to talk about this tomorrow," he said slowly. "Or ever."

"We will one day," she murmured to him, a quiet promise she wasn't sure he understood or would even remember in the morning. But it meant something to her, meant a pledge to herself, and she needed that. For her.

For them.


	33. 209, Bait

**Episode 2.09, Bait**

_Calleigh knew it was serious from the look on Eric's face. He wouldn't have asked Tyler to give them some privacy if it wasn't. Once the lab tech was out of earshot, she turned to Eric._

_"What's up?"_

_Eric glanced anxiously at the entrance of the AV lab. "What would you do if someone you knew was involved in this?" he asked, tapping his thumbs against each other._

_Calleigh inhaled. "How involved?"_

_"Fingerprint evidence puts them at the scene," he replied._

_She made a small humming noise and stood up. "Did a cop?"_

_He wheeled himself closer on his chair. "Yeah."_

_"Did you talk to the cop about it?" she asked, crossing her arms over her chest._

_"It's not Hagen," he reassured her. "This cop admits he was there, but that's all, and I'm pretty sure he's lying."_

_She leaned her weight against the table. "Well, what do you think?" she pressed. "Think he did it?"_

_"No, no." He shook his head, thinking of Frank Tripp. "No, no way."_

_"Well," she said, "you tell Horatio and he turns out to be clean, no cop in Miami is ever going to trust you again."_

_He sighed silently. "I know."_

-/-/-

Eric found Calleigh on one of the benches in the lobby, a small freckle-faced girl seated beside her. He slipped into the seat next to Calleigh and smiled at the girl on her other side.

"Hey there," he greeted softly.

The little girl shied away from Eric and buried her face into Calleigh's arm.

Calleigh gently stroked the girl's hair. "She's not having a good day," she explained.

Eric nodded. "That's Abigail, isn't it?"

"Yeah, Frank's youngest daughter," she replied with a pointed look.

He nodded again, understanding. "What is she doing here?"

Calleigh looked down at the girl, then back up at Eric. "Melissa dropped her off and Frank is in an interrogation so I offered to keep her company."

He sat with them for a few minutes, until Frank appeared. Abigail immediately soared into high spirits. "Daddy!" she cried, shooting off the bench and making a beeline for her father. The other two stood up.

"Melissa dropped her off?" Frank asked as he approached with Abigail in hand, to which Calleigh nodded. "Thanks for watching her. Well, see you tomorrow Calleigh, Eric."

Everyone quickly exchanged farewells and Frank swept Abigail into his arms and set out, done for the day. Calleigh watched them leave, Abigail giggling happily in Frank's bear-like arms. She wondered if she was the only one who could see the sadness in the little girl's eyes, the one she tried so desperately to hide. Calleigh recognized it. "It's going to be a tough couple of months for that little girl," she commented to nobody in particular.

Eric looked at her, and he sensed something greater than anything his own understanding could grasp. "She's going to pull through," he said in an attempt at reassurance, but they both knew that his words were fairly meaningless.

"Frank's a good man, but—" Calleigh trailed off, a wave of emotion surprising her. She suddenly wished she was anywhere else, somewhere not in the middle of the lobby, not with an array of people passing through, watching. Frank and Abigail were out of sight now, having disappeared out the front doors.

"It doesn't get past them, no matter how young they are."

"It's going to make her stronger," he insisted gently, trying, for the moment at least, to quell her fears. To release whatever demons her mind was conjuring up.

She nodded, conceding rather than convinced. "Maybe."

"It made you stronger," he remarked.

She chuckled humorlessly. "At what cost?"

At that, he frowned. "There's nothing wrong with you, Calleigh."

"I can be… distant," she acknowledged, a hidden apology nestled between her words. She knew she made things difficult; she didn't know any other way. "It's not because of—" She looked down for a moment, then back up again, but she couldn't meet his eyes. "But it didn't help."

Eric brushed his knuckles against hers. "I wouldn't change one thing about you."

Her eyes shot up. "Really?"

He grinned. "Why? Would you change something about me?"

"No, of course not," she said softly, comprehending.

His smile widened. "Calleigh, sometimes I don't know if you're just being modest or if you never really look at yourself in the mirror."

She understood the compliment and felt the heat rising in her cheeks, but she quickly shook it away. She hated feeling like she was vulnerable, like he could read her. Hated it, yet marveled at how easily and how often she found herself in that position around him and how sometimes, she didn't hate it so much.

"You wanna talk about it?" he broached carefully. "Your parents' divorce?"

"No." She shook her head steadily. "Not here," she added, looking around.

He followed her line of sight around the lobby before returning to her. "Why don't I make you dinner tonight?" he asked, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Like I promised a while back."

"That's—" She thought about it for a moment and nodded, recanting. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Come by around seven?" he suggested.

She nodded again. "It's a date."

Eric grinned. His day just got a whole lot better.

-/-/-

Calleigh was mentally scolding herself. She was _not_ nervous about this. She ate with Eric all the time; what was different about tonight? And even if it was kind of a _date_ date, which it absolutely wasn't, what was the big deal? She wasn't thirteen; she could handle this.

She admonished her pounding heart and reached to ring his doorbell.

A moment later, he answered the door holding a spatula. "Hey," he greeted, "come on in."

She walked inside, and he closed the door behind them, stepping up behind her.

"You look really good," he murmured, too close to her ear.

She smiled faintly, absorbing the compliment and again wishing that her body would stop reacting like this. She turned around and was surprised by his proximity. Surprised and… anxious. "I brought some wine," she managed, holding out the bottle in her hands.

"Thanks," he said, taking it from her. "Planning on getting me drunk again?"

She didn't answer that, wasn't sure if he meant his words the way she understood them, so she followed him quietly to the kitchen. The aroma wafting from the stovetop was enough to make her mouth water. "Smells great. What are we having?"

"Boliche," he replied, approaching his stovetop. "It should be just about done," he added, urging Calleigh toward the table. "Take a seat."

He hadn't made an attempt to set the mood, and she was grateful for that. No pressure. No expectations. It put her at ease. The table was already set for two, and she slipped into one of the chairs. Eric served the dish and poured each of them a glass of wine, then slid into the seat opposite her. He held up his glass.

"To us," he toasted.

She picked up hers and the glasses clinked. "To us," she agreed with a smile.

He took a sip and picked up his fork. "If you hate it," he said with a chuckle, motioning to her plate, "well, don't tell me."

She cut herself a piece of roast and brought it to her lips, and her eyes widened. "Eric, this is delicious!" Another bite, which she tried to take without seeming like she was stuffing her face. She chewed, swallowed. "I can't believe you actually made this."

He chuckled. "What, you think I'd just order out and pretend I made it?"

She fed herself another forkful and sighed in satisfaction. "Why is this the first time I've had your cooking?"

They fell into comfortable conversation then, discussing where he'd learned to cook, which veered off toward his mother, his family in Cuba, and the topic of her parents' divorce never came up. Calleigh was glad for that, knew that it wasn't something she enjoyed revisiting, and she didn't want to sour such a wonderful evening. There was something about learning that Eric could cook well that stoked a fire inside her.

Later, after the plates were cleared and the bottle of wine nearly empty, she found herself lying on his couch with him behind her. She could – and would – blame her lack of reluctance on the wine, even though in the farthest crevices of her mind, she knew there was more to it.

The television was on, but neither was paying much attention to it. His hand was resting on her abdomen, and she was quickly being lulled to sleep by his heartbeat against her back. But she couldn't, and she knew as much. Sometime after the eleven o'clock news began, she moved her hand to rest over his.

"I'd better get going," she told him, pulling at his fingers.

"Okay." He didn't move.

She waited a few more minutes, suddenly wishing she could stay longer. Despite that, she pushed his hand away and sat up, quickly running her fingers through her hair. "Thanks for dinner," she said quietly, and he detected a hint of reluctance there. She made a beeline for the door.

He had to rush to make it to the door before she could let herself out. "I'll see you tomorrow?" he asked as she opened his front door.

She turned to him and nodded. "Good night, Eric," she replied, stepping out.

Long after he watched her leave, his mind was still awash with confusion; dinner with Calleigh, nice as it was, had posed more questions than it'd answered.


	34. 210, Extreme

A/N: Last night's ep convinced me to ignore the correspondence file I have to hand in at midnight and finish this chapter instead. And this fic is going to involve a lot of juggling and handwaving. Just so you know.

* * *

**Episode 2.10, Extreme**

_Eric was painstakingly collecting evidence from the shirt he'd worn earlier at the chop shop. The adrenaline had long worn off, and he was aching. Still, he pushed through. As he was tape-lifting, Calleigh poked her head into the lab._

_"Hey, prize fighter," she greeted._

_"Hey," he said with a short humorless chuckle. "More like prize punching bag."_

_She looked down at the table. "That's your shirt. Did you forget your lint brush?"_

_"No, just looking for evidence," he replied, continuing with his work._

_She leaned against the table. "Okay, so, let me get this straight. You were walking by, you found a chop shop, you stopped and got into a fight."_

_"Not exactly."_

_She rounded the table, shortening the distance between them. She peered at his work for a moment, then, "How old is she?"_

_"It's not like that," he replied without a hint of humor. He looked up. "Seriously."_

-/-/-

It had taken a lot of convincing to get Eric to agree to let Calleigh drive him home. He seemed to agree more out of sheer exhaustion than anything else, but Calleigh would've taken it any way she could get it. He had barely made eye contact with her all day and what little he'd said had been strictly about work. She'd caught him laughing with Valera and the new girl in questioned documents, so his cold treatment of her had nothing to do with his mood and everything to do with whatever was going on between them.

It was already dark outside when they left CSI. He'd stayed exceptionally late – to make up for the work he'd missed, no doubt – and she'd stayed to ensure he arrived home safely after shift and to figure out why he was acting so coldly toward her. The former had panned out; the latter, she was still working on.

The drive was quiet, strangely awkward, and she could sense his relief when she finally pulled up to his building.

"Thanks for the ride," he mumbled, reaching for the door handle.

"Hang on." She found her hand on his thigh before she could stop herself. "Do you mind if I come up for a bit?"

He sighed, making no efforts to hide his irritation. "I'm tired, Calleigh."

She nodded. "I just want to make sure you're okay."

"I'm fine," he said petulantly.

Calleigh was not so easily deterred. "You won't even notice I'm there."

He chuckled dryly. "Do whatever you want," he dismissed, pushing open the car door. "I'm just going to take a shower and go to bed."

She would be lying if she said that his words didn't sting her, but she tried her best to push the negativity away. She shut off the engine and climbed out of the car herself, remotely locking the doors before heading toward his building. The water was already running in the shower by the time she made it up to his condo. She let herself in and slipped into his kitchen to make him something to eat.

Fifteen minutes after she heard the water turn off, she began to worry. She didn't know the extent of his injuries but she figured from the description that it must've been serious. Unsure, she made her way to the bathroom door and rapped her knuckles gently against it.

His aggravated reply came two moments later. "What?"

She counted to three before asking, "Do you need help?"

"No," he replied immediately, though she could hear the hesitation behind his words.

She waited, heard him banging around in the bathroom, then a frustrated grunt. She tried again. "Eric—"

The door swung open, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but that wasn't what caught Calleigh's eye. The skin along his arms and across his chest and abdomen was marred with cuts and bruises, some small and shallow, others larger and sickly purple. Heart pounding, she took a step into the bathroom; he stepped away.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he muttered, fumbling with a roll of gauze in his hands.

She approached him again, horrified, and he looked away as her fingertips trailed a particularly nasty bruise along his ribs. He clenched his jaws to hold back a wince, but she noticed anyway. Her fingers snapped away, though her eyes did not. She tried to say something comforting, something reassuring, but her mouth felt dry and her eyes strangely moist.

"Calleigh, I'm fine," he said, squirming uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny.

She swallowed, feeling the lump in her throat. "Is there something I can, uh—"

He held out the roll of gauze. "Can you just… wrap it around?"

She nodded and took the roll from him, then carefully pressed it against his skin. "Sorry," she murmured when she felt his muscles contract and his body quake. Doing the best she could, she bandaged him up, and she was too focused on her task to notice how close they were, how intimate it'd become. It didn't escape him, however, and he had to force himself to remember his own name when her hands skimmed his skin.

He hated that she had this power over him, hated that he couldn't stay mad at her when she was close enough to touch, to smell. He hated that he was more concerned about the look of guilt across her face than his own injuries. He hated her_ guilt_.

She was efficient, and his torso was quickly wrapped up. She stepped back to study her work. "Are you sure—" She trailed off, her voice sounding foreign and parched.

He winced as he slipped into a shirt. "Yeah."

She nodded and took another step away. She cleared her throat. "I found a can of soup and tossed it on the stove for you."

"You shouldn't have." There was little gratitude in his words, only genuine frustration, indignation, and he was surprised when he felt those same emotions welling up inside him.

"You're mad at me," she observed quietly.

He turned away and ignored her, but when he felt her cold fingers against his cheek, his eyes involuntarily darted to her. Against his better judgment, he shrugged her hand away, watching as it retreated quietly to her side.

Her expression steeled; her voice hardened. "What did I—"

"Why did you ask about her like—" His voice had spilled from his lips angry, loud; it made him dizzy, and he had to take a deep breath to clear his mind. His next words were subdued but potent, quiet but piercing. "You _knew_ how I felt about you and you asked it like you expected—" He shook his head and chuckled bitterly. "Do you even know how that made me feel?"

In that moment, her heart hurt. _Ached_ like she'd never experienced before. Of course. Of course her words had been insensitive. She'd asked because she'd spent the better part of the morning wondering where Eric was and why she didn't know about it, and when she found out it was because of some woman, she'd made an assumption. An ugly, irrational assumption stemming from an ugly, irrational jealousy.

"I thought—"

"I know what you thought."

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry," she murmured, sensing that it wasn't enough.

He nodded. "You should go home," he reiterated. "I'll be fine."

She remained stationary. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

He shrugged again. "Go home," he grunted. He couldn't handle her proximity, couldn't handle the conflicting emotions she was evoking. All he wanted was to pop a couple ibuprofens and sleep until noon, though he was sure he'd be awoken in the middle of the night requiring an additional dose.

The two stood in silence for a moment before she stepped back into the bathroom. She slipped easily between him and the bathroom counter, stretching slightly to reach him. Before her brain had the chance to analyze and veto the commands her heart was sending, she pressed her lips to his; they were warm, soft. She pulled away, but she quickly realized that it wasn't enough, and their lips met again, lightly still, slowly exploring. She'd meant it as an apology for things she didn't have the courage to admit, but it was more than that. It was the admission itself, and she hoped that he understood.

Her hands were at his hips, and they slowly travelled up his body. He groaned against her mouth, but she knew immediately that it had nothing to do with their current position and everything with his injuries. She began to pull away, but his hand against the back of her neck stopped her. She felt his lips moving against hers, felt his tongue brush against hers, and the intensity there made her shiver.

It was nothing like that day in the park yet still similar. Her heart hammering in her chest, insistent, and she felt her apology being accepted by him, felt that maybe this time, she wasn't hurting him anymore. Didn't intend to, either.

When they finally pulled apart, he rested his forehead against hers for a moment before opening his eyes. He threaded his fingers through hers, and she gave him a light squeeze.

"When you weren't at the scene," she began in a whisper, "all I could think of was how I wanted to be the only person who could make you late for work." She laughed nervously at her own words. "I know that's selfish and unfair, but—"

He interrupted her by dropping a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth. "Let's move out of the bathroom," he suggested.

She laughed lightly and nodded, then followed him to the couch in his living room. His hand never left hers, and they both sat down, but she suddenly didn't know what to say to him. The awkwardness was beginning to crawl back into the room, and she should've figured it wouldn't be this easy. That sometimes, wounds cut deeper than she had the power to immediately heal.

"I don't have to tell you everything."

His words surprised her. She nodded, swallowing hard. "I know."

He played with her fingers for a moment, contemplative. "I didn't tell you because it's not a big deal." He shrugged, his eyes piercing until he let his gaze drop. "And this thing… if we're going to do this, I have to know that you trust me."

"I do," she promised him. "I'm sorry about today."

He gave her hand a tight, reassuring squeeze. "It's okay." He smiled, looking toward his kitchen. "You made me some soup?"

She nodded, marveling at how easily they slipped back into a comfortable routine. "Come eat some before it gets cold."

He let her lead him to the kitchen and sit him down at the table, then watched as she scooped out a bowl of chicken soup and placed it in front of him. It wasn't half as good as what she could've done had she spent the time making from scratch, but it was sufficient. Better than sufficient, actually, but his mind was too occupied to really dwell on that.

"I'm not mad at you anymore," he said, though it was rather unnecessary. His demeanor had softened, his stance less guarded, and Calleigh had to admit that while his anger lasted, he had the power to really hurt her.

Briefly, she traced her fingertip along his jaw line, observing as his eyes rose to hers. She wanted to tell him that she wanted to take care of him, to make sure the ugly bruises she'd seen disappeared with haste, but instead, she drew her fingers away and asked, "We're okay?"

He nodded. "You're not going to pretend this never happened?"

It stung a little to hear him ask that, to know that he felt the need to. She'd planted the insecurity there, she knew. "I want this as much as you do," she admitted. He appeared surprised, so she continued, "I do, and I don't want to be skittish about it anymore."

He grinned, soup all but forgotten. "Figures I have to get my ass kicked to hear you say that," he said playfully.

She smiled, but it was a little sad. "Be more careful, okay?" She glanced at the digital display on his microwave; it was already late. "We'll talk more when we both get some rest. I should start heading back."

She stood up, and he followed her to his door. "You don't have to go home," he suggested quietly, a request nestled behind his carefully-chosen words. He knew he was asking something neither of them was prepared for, but he couldn't help it, wanted her.

She stood her ground, knowing it was territory she shouldn't explore until they'd talked and his wounds had healed. "Yeah, I should." She slipped on her shoes and pulled open his door. "Call in sick tomorrow, okay?"

Though her concern was appreciated, he shook his head. "I'm fine, Calleigh. I can work."

Her eyes raked over his shirt, along where she knew his bruises were. "Eric, I saw those injuries. Stay home and take care of yourself." She touched his arm gently. "After my shift tomorrow, I'll come by," she offered, knowing that would appease him enough to convince him to take the day off.

"Okay," he relented. "I'll call in sick."

She smiled. "Thank you. Don't hesitate to call if you need anything."

"Like you?"

Her smile widened and even in the dim lighting, he could see the color in her cheeks, but she didn't say anything. She pushed herself up on her toes to plant a chaste kiss on his lips, another when she felt his arms circle her waist to hold her there. The second one was longer, and she had to stop it before it turned so fiery hot it burned her.

He was smiling. "One for the road?" he asked, releasing her from his grip.

She laughed. "One for the road."

The second, she thought to herself, to help her through the night.


End file.
